Deep in the night, Kráva sensed a presence. She snapped awake, one hand already gripping the knife beside her on the pallet. Then a familiar shape and scent put her at ease for a moment.
“What is it, father?” she murmured.
Derga grunted. “Some trouble outside. Arm yourself, and come.”
He withdrew. Now Kráva could hear voices and movement, from elsewhere in the hall. The Wolf-clan and their guests were beginning to stir. Men and women rose from sleep, seized the...