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Feigrind didn't stop to explain either. He ducked his head into the tent directly behind me, speaking to whoever was inside.

“Hello, Maman.”

Maman? Mama. Was I about to meet Feigrind’s mother?

An older woman puttered out of the tent, ignoring her son. The dismissal surprised me, but it didn’t seem to bother Feigrind. He just looked amused.

“What did I do now?”

She scoffed at him. “I do not waste my energy on ungrateful sons. You only ever visit me to pester me. Go back to your duties.”

His smile grew with each barb. No wonder he was so unbothered by my attitude if a woman like this raised him.

“I am doing my duties, Maman. I watch over the tribute until he is ready to choose a bondmate.”

That made her pause and look up at her son. Her head swung around, and her eyes landed on me. “Him?”

Feigrind nodded. “Yes. He has not given me his name yet. Orthorr asked me to protect him because he is a brat who does not behave.”

My face twitched with the effort to lock down my expression. If I reacted how I wanted to, he’d know I could understand him.But the way he spoke about me made my hands twitch for my knives.

The woman didn’t seem bothered by his words, though. She chuckled and reached up to pat his face. “Poor thing. I raised you to be too strong, and now you are paying for it.”

He rolled his eyes, but his smile was affectionate. They both obviously cared for each other. It must be nice to have a parent like that.

“What’s your name, lad?” she asked abruptly in the common tongue.

I narrowed my eyes at her. “I’m not answering that. He doesn’t need to know.”

She was unfazed by my declaration, turning to her son and raising her eyebrows at him. “Go away.”

That surprised us both, and Feigrind frowned at her.

“I cannot. He is a flight risk. He has nearly been killed twice.”

Once. The first time was not my fault. How was I supposed to know there were wild animals in the desert on the trip here?

“If he runs, you will catch him, as you always do. Go train. I will watch him.”

He was reluctant, but he didn't argue with his mother. She shooed him away, and once he was out of sight, she gave me a pointed look. “There. He’s gone. Name.”

I liked her sass and felt a smile tugging at my lips when I answered. “Simon. You?”

“Urnda. Or Maman. Whatever suits your fancy. How many times have you run so far?”

Making a face, I crossed my arms. “Twice. I was hurt both times. It’s not worth it. I will get them to bring me back instead.”

She snorted. “Good luck with that. Do you know how to use clay?”

She didn’t beat around the bush or seem to care what my answer was. She grabbed my elbow and tugged me out of myseat to a wooden stool beside the tent. In front of it was what looked like a carriage wheel on its side, with a spoke in the middle, and a small table on top. I’d never touched pottery outside the finished product, so I had no idea what it was for, but I guessed I was about to find out. She plopped a mound of clay onto the table and pointed at the wheel beneath it.

“Move that with your feet. It will turn the clay.”

“What am I doing with it?”

She sat down at a similar table beside me. “For now, getting to know the clay. If it gets too dry, add some water. Don’t add too much unless you wish to wear it.”

It was a strange request, but she didn’t take no for an answer. She just started on her own work and ignored my confused expression. Whatever. It was better than sitting in that tent pretending I didn’t understand what Feigrind was saying to me.