Read Under Quiet Skies :: 1.2 - Warden's Words

Speculation buzzed among the sifters about the Warden’s words, but between Erith and Elian, silence remained as they neared the cooking tent. Each fought through their exhaustion, using what little energy remained to make sense of the orders.

The warm scent of firewood and stew distracted them, tugging at their senses as they took their place in line.

“It feels like ages since I ate last,” Erith muttered, eyeing the sifters ahead of them eagerly collecting their bowls from the bustling cooking stations. Steam rose from oversized kettles, filling the air with the scent of herbs. Erith silently hoped it would pull Elian from his thoughts.

Elian broke his silence, lifting his head to look toward Erith. His voice was subdued. "You think we’ll see the other side of the Narrows in one piece?"

Erith shifted closer and placed a hand on Elian’s shoulder, hoping to ease the tension brewing in him. Before Erith could say anything, a sharp clap landed on his back, causing both him and Elian to jump.

A loud, rough voice rang out at them.

“I swear, Warden’s tryin’ t’kill half of us now, ‘cause he couldn’t stand knowin’ the Narrows’d be tougher on his own lot than him,” Minisk exclaimed. “We’ll all go through the Narrows, but wit’ what legs? What’s he expectin’ us t’do that with? Could be a hundred Murasi out there, won’t make no diff’rence. I’ll be fallin’ off a cliffside in the state he’s got us in.”

Minisk’s words froze Erith for a moment. His eyes darted toward Elian, unsure of how to respond to Minisk's interjection, but before he could, Minisk turned his attention toward Erith.

“Good t’see some color back in ya, Erith,” Minisk said with a smirk, towering over the two of them. “Couple days ago, if it weren’t for that dirty mop on yer head, I’d have sworn I was seein’ a ghost driftin’ ‘round camp. And Elian? You do know yer s’posed to cook the rabbits before tossin’ them in the stew, right? Last time, they were near jumpin’ outta the bowls! Damn near put Erith here in an early grave with that, ya did.”

Minisk looked down at Elian, who was staring at the ground, his shorter frame seeming even smaller beside them. Elian’s hands were clenched by his sides, his mind buzzed with unease.

“What’s gotten into ya today?” Minisk softened his tone slightly as he tried to stir a reaction.

“I think you’re what’s gotten into him today,” Erith sneered, finding his words again. “Tales of Morvath and Murasi. Didn’t know you and the Warden had taken up boosting camp morale together.”

Minisk snorted, scratching the back of his head, grinning sheepishly as he studied Elian. “Well, the Warden’s talk about the Narrows ain’t exactly cheerin’ no one up, is it? Gonna be one hell of a trek, that. But look, if the scouts can crawl their way through all that and back with a route mapped out and still be breathin’, then it shouldn’t be too bad for us.”

Minisk leaned in toward Elian, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “And fer the Murasi? Don’t be losin’ no sleep over ‘em. Morvath’s whole siftin’ operation’s been worse than Loradun’s lately, and that’s sayin’ somethin’. More likely Morvath’s muckin’ things up even if there actually were Murasi involved. Prolly just a plain old Morvathi mess. C’mon, Elian, ya know how stories get all twisted ‘round in the camps.”

Elian peered up at Minisk, whose broad frame and stern face glowed with warmth. “Did the Surelians really give more Kaida for the expeditions this season?”

Minisk met Erith’s eyes briefly, raising an eyebrow that Erith all too well knew to mean that was meant to be between us, but no surprise you’d tell Elian. He shrugged and turned back to Elian.

“Seems like they did. Surelians ain’t fools, they’ve always run things with a mind to safety. ‘Better safe than sorry,’ right? S’long as I’ve been siftin’, they’ve kept Aldarath steady with Kaida. Can’t do that without knowin’ how to keep the wheels turnin’, and nowadays, that means keepin’ ‘em turnin’ safe.”

They collected their bowls and inhaled the comforting aroma of the stew. Wincing from the aches of their earlier drills, they eased themselves onto a patch of ground in the clearing.

“It must’ve been a big storm if they’re pushing us through the Narrows,” Elian muttered. “We might be stuck at the Reach for a week. Wouldn’t mind that. Could be nice to catch our breath for a bit.” He blew on his stew, took a large gulp, and closed his eyes for a brief moment as his posture relaxed, the warmth gently soothing away his aches.

“Caldis is easier to get to from Morvath,” Erith replied, his gaze shifting toward the officers in the clearing. “But I doubt they start the season that far south. Surelians don’t seem to care, though. They’re moving us like the Morvathi are already setting up camp around the Reach.”

Erith’s gaze drifted to a small wooden table where the Warden sat with two men, his posture rigid yet calm. The Warden leaned in slightly, speaking in low, measured tones, his words carrying the weight of authority. Across from him sat the older of the two men, his graying hair framing a face etched with experience and hardened by years in the field. Despite his age, the man radiated quiet, unmistakable authority.

In the middle was a younger man, perhaps Minisk’s age, who sat with rapt attention. His eyes shifted between the Warden and the older Surelian, absorbing every word in silence. There was a tension in his stillness, the kind born from both respect and the pressure not to miss a single detail. Erith studied the “S” sigil stitched into their vests, marking them as high-ranking members of the Surelian Sifting Company.

Their bowls empty, the group rose to return them to the cooking tent.

“I’ll catch up with you both on the trail,” Minisk said, collecting their bowls. “Amaru’s comin’ off kitchen duty. We’ll head to the front together.” He gave a wave and headed toward the kitchen tent.

Erith scanned the sifters scattered across the clearing, more than a hundred in number, their faces, a blend of fear and excitement, still echoing the Warden’s intensity. Erith watched as the Warden and the Surelians headed toward their caravan. The older Surelian and the Warden led the way, while the younger one followed with a few officers in tow.

Despite their ranks, Erith sensed the same wary look on their faces as on the sifters’. Whatever lay ahead, it seemed to weigh on them all the same.

He nudged Elian, nodding toward the tent pack. For a moment, his eyes lingered on the sifters ahead. In a low, quiet voice, he said, “Let’s get going.”

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