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“And his son,” Dawsyn returns.

Nevrak earnt his moniker for the way he aptly splits people the way one would split wood. His son is the one Briar Sabar referred to as ‘weasel,’ though his name is Wes.

“Back you go,” calls Nevrak evenly, his beard covered in frost. Frozen tears, Dawsyn realises. So, they are mourning. One more glance to the ground before them tells Dawsyn that these bodies are those of his daughters. Neither could be older than ten.

The way the children are bound in hide, their limbs tied to their bodies, Dawsyn knows Nevrak is preparing them for their eternal rest at the bottom of the Chasm.

Another two she was not fast enough to save.

Dawsyn swallows, then lifts her hands in a show of peace.

This is the moment recognition comes. Nevrak’s thin face goes slack with disbelief. He readies his stance.

“We did not come to fight,” Dawsyn says clearly. But his son is already raising a knife, throwing it through the air.

Dawsyn watches it flip end over end. She reaches up to catch it before it can glide over her. Though she is reticent to, she throws it back, letting it land blade down in the snow before Wes’s feet.

Nevrak and Wes stare at it, their expressions bewildered.

“As I said,” Dawsyn calls, louder now, “we did not come to fight.” Dawsyn’s eyes slip to Wes, who seems to be palming his belt for another weapon. “Tell your boy to call in reinforcements, Nevrak. Perhaps it will ease his nerves.”

Nevrak hesitates. “What do you want?” he asks, pulling his only remaining child behind him.

“To speak,” Dawsyn answers, and prays her words are beseeching enough. “That is all.”

Nevrak appraises her for a moment, likely sizing up his chances of defending himself alone against both Dawsyn and Hector. But in the end, he must decide that sending Wes away is of more importance, and so he nods to the boy.

It takes mere moments for others to begin to converge. Word travels quickly along the Face.

The Sabar girl has returned once more. She brings Hector with her.

Two of their own people, taken and returned unharmed. Dawsyn hopes it will be enough to sway them.

They come from their homes – the ones strong enough to stand in the icy wind – several feet from the corpses of children, eyes averted. All have come with one weapon or another. None are so naïve to think that Dawsyn and Hector have come alone. They remember who she was last accompanied by: strange-looking Glacians. Glacians with human resemblance. Their eyes flit over the grove, looking for signs of movement or shadow, ears pricked for the sounds of wings.

“Now or never,” Hector murmurs to her, and Dawsyn has never seen him warier. He shakes his head slightly at the sight of the crowd. “Mother help us both.”

“Hope you haven’t come back for your cabin, boy,” calls Nevrak, still hovering protectively over his girls. “Cabin’s been occupied.”

Dawsyn can hear the way Hector’s breath shakes as he exhales.

“No,” Dawsyn says. “We’ve come with the same offer as before.” A deep breath. “We’ve come to help you escape the Ledge.” She lets her voice ring out into the cold, bitter night. The words hover in the air briefly, a tangible, visible thing, before the fine wisps of them are swept away.

She ensures all can hear her, perhaps a hundred of them, ragged in their layers of fur, weather-beaten faces grim and bony. She recognises the desperate tang in the air. They are hungry. Adrik still tarries to make the Drop.

“When was the last time the Glacians came?” Dawsyn asks now.

“Why don’t you ask your friends?” calls a woman, her voice shrill but tremulous. She is afraid.

Dawsyn raises her hands again. “Hector and I have been in the valley,” she says. “We know very little of what the Glacians have been doing on the other side of this Chasm.”

The crowd rumbles quietly, disbelieving.

“The valley is… beautiful,” Hector offers, almost trance-like. “Sunlight. Flowing water. Soft ground. Flowers,” and with this last word he pulls a hand from his pocket and holds it aloft. His fingers slowly unfurl, and with them, the bright pink petals of primrose are collected by the wind and carried past the eyes of the Ledge people.

They look to one another.

Dawsyn speaks again. “What I said before has not changed. The Glacians have a new king. He will come here and reap whenever he chooses–”