Everywhere was silen.
The only light came from the fading embers of the campfire and the soft, ghostly glow of the alien plants.
Daniel lay on his bedroll. He was fast asleep. His heartbeat was steady. He was very tired.
Bran stood over him.
The fire cast long, crooked shadows across Bran's face. He did not look like the scared, weeping boy who had begged for help just hours ago.
He stood tall. His shoulders were not hunched. His hands were steady. Bran reached into his pouch. He pulled out a small glass vial.
Inside, a dark, thick liquid shifted. It was the paralytic poison he had made from the plants in the Vale. He also held a piece of ritual chalk.
It glowed with a sickly green light. "SSS-Grade," Bran whispered. His voice was soft, barely a breath. "It is too good for you, Daniel. You are just a soft-hearted fool. You don't deserve it."
