It was a nasty cut, right on the left side of his ribcage, Apollas knew that lifting his arm would become a painful exercise for the next months, but it was the least of his concerns.

As he made his way through the maze of tents and fireplaces which were scattered all over the plane of Themos, he expected blades waiting for him behind every canvas wall. Every questioning gaze coming from the fireplaces were stories of battle were re-experienced and edged into song, seemed to seek his death.

It was all falling to pieces, since his arrival at Themos. His people disowned him. He had lost his honor, not only before his allies, but also the Sherden and even his wolf pack.

A few had stayed loyal, the last of which now lay face down in blood drenched sand.

It had been made impossible for him to stay, he had to take the woman and leave the Sherden.

He dreaded the thought of the Sherden fighting under the bulls command, a hethite.

It tortured him, but the decision was made and Apollas was never one to question his decisions for longer then necessary.

His tent was close now, after the first attack on him last night he moved out of his private tent on the high plateau into a common tent in the middle of the tjeker baggage train encampment on the lower plains. The tjeker warriors visited the women and boys of the encampment frequently, spending their spoils of war. Seeing armed men between the tents didn't attract to much attention. Still enough curious eyes capable of crossing the language barrier if there was money in it were around to make it only a matter of time until the former sherden king was betrayed.

It was a dangerous thing and the tjeker chief only risked his and his peoples lifes because he was still in Apollas debt and a tjeker honors their word above all. So he begrudgingly hid Apollas, his men and his women between the whores and blacksmiths.

As Apollas came closer to his tent he slowed, these last few meters were the most dangerous. Though the Tjeker were a strong force and would not bow to pressure from the bull and let them outright search their camp, he would probably managed to get a good number of Lukka spies looking for Apollas in all the camps. Apollas was humored by the idea, the bull was already digging his grave.

In the eyes of the Tjeker the invaders from the north, the Lukka were vassals. It would only take a few loses in battle to separate them from the bulls clutches. And by swarming them with unwelcome spies he was already loosening the fragile bond.

But the Lukka were not all Apollas had to worry about there always were detractors, even among his Sherden. The same old voices which, faced with his strength, muffled themselves and hid in the shadows. Now they returned in the heat of the moment to gain traction in his absence. Enough even to make his own people call for Apollas head.

But at last his caution was unwarranted, when he arrived at the tent there was a small column of smoke rising from the inside, but it was too thin to signal its torching.

When he entered he found Nesfa burning incents before a small ivory figurine, she looked at him with her wide open blue eyes from under her straight black hair, frightened as if he still was a conquerer ready to kill her.

"What is this?" he demanded.

She lowered her gaze.

"I bought the resin off of one of the women."

There was an innocence to this women, and suddenly Apollas felt in his heart he made the right decision.

"It's fine, gather what you need, we leave now."