Isceradin had climbed out of his tent to meet the newly ascendant sun when he saw Sukamek drag a Shaawanaki by the hair into the heart of camp. Both Sukamek and his captive had blood spattered all over them, mingling with the sweat streaming down their skin. The Inu’naabe’s club, slung under his loincloth’s thong, also dripped ichor, drawing a trail of red dots on the ground.

Seeing all the signs of violence on his friend drained the blood from Isceradin’s head, turning it c...