We did not leave Ravenflock immediately.
Three days had passed since the situation in the swamp was resolved.
The fort had changed in ways I did not expect.
It was louder now.
More alive.
Not because of soldiers or travelers.
But because of movement that had not been there before.
Siltfang.
Everywhere.
Not inside the swamp anymore.
But not truly inside the fort either.
Something in between.
They worked alongside the wardens without stopping each other.
Not perfectly.
Not smoothly.
But without conflict.
That alone felt unusual enough to notice.
The land near the lower plateau had become their place of settlement.
Temporary, I was told.
But it already felt less temporary than the word suggested.
I was asked to accompany Durandal today.
To see the outer perimeter.
And to hunt.
A deer, he said.
It felt strange that something so simple could exist after everything I had seen.
But I followed anyway.
Ryn was not here.
I found myself noticing that more than I expected.
Durandal did not speak much at first.
Only when necessary.
He moved with the same steadiness as before.
Always slightly ahead of where I thought I should step.
We returned with nothing large.
Only what was needed.
The walk back was quieter.
Less tense than before.
But not fully relaxed either.
We passed along the inner wall of the fort.
And I saw them again.
The Siltfang.
Close enough now that I could see differences I had not understood before.
Not all of them looked the same.
Durandal noticed my attention.
He stopped walking.
And followed my gaze.
Then he began to explain.
Slowly.
As if placing pieces on a surface I had not realized existed.
“There are five major tribes,” he said.
His hand lifted slightly.
Pointing.
Not at one, but across them.
As if mapping them in the air.
“The Blackscale Dominion.”
I followed his gesture.
They were the largest.
Heavy in presence even when still.
Their scales dark.
Almost black stone when wet.
Red lines cut across their bodies like old scars that never faded.
They did not move often.
But when they did, others made space without being asked.
“Thornback Tribe.”
He shifted slightly.
Near a cluster of more restless movement.
Their bodies were smaller than the Blackscale.
But sharper.
Spines along their backs.
Eyes that did not settle easily.
They moved like they were always reacting to something unseen.
“Mudvein Clan.”
Another group.
Harder to notice at first.
Their colors blended with the wet earth.
Brown. Grey.
Almost disappearing when still.
Even their presence felt delayed.
As if they arrived after the moment had already passed.
“Ghostjaw Hollow.”
His voice lowered slightly.
Not in fear.
But in acknowledgment.
I barely saw them at first.
Pale figures.
Too quiet.
Too precise.
They moved less like people and more like absence taking shape.
I felt my attention slipping when I looked too long.
And then—
“Reedwhisper Kin.”
This time, he pointed further ahead.
They were easier to recognize.
Not because they were loud.
But because they were… structured.
Their markings lighter.
More organized patterns across their bodies.
They spoke.
Not clearly.
But enough.
Fragments of human tongue mixed with their own.
They seemed to understand us more than the others did.
Or at least, they tried to be understood.
Durandal lowered his hand.
“That is why communication is… uneven.”
He did not elaborate further.
He did not need to.
I looked at all of them again.
And realized I had been calling them one thing in my mind.
Siltfang.
As if that word contained sameness.
But it did not.
Not even close.
On the way back, I saw Ryn.
She was speaking with someone near the fort steps.
When she noticed me, she walked over immediately.
Her expression shifted slightly when she saw Durandal beside me.
Then she spoke.
Lightly.
As if continuing a thought from before I arrived.
“He could be your grandfather’s grandfather’s grandfather, you know.”
I stopped walking.
For a moment, I did not understand what she meant.
Then I did.
My face felt warm immediately.
“I was just… walking,” I said quickly.
“And he was explaining things.”
Ryn smiled slightly.
Not teasing loudly.
More like… observing.
As if confirming something she already knew.
Durandal did not react.
Only continued walking ahead as if the conversation had nothing to do with him.
I watched him for a moment.
Then looked away.
Later, I returned to my room.
The fort was quieter now.
Or perhaps I was simply more tired than before.
I sat down without removing my coat immediately.
The words from earlier did not leave easily.
Not the tribes.
Not the swamp.
But Ryn’s voice.
I do not think I have ever had a sister.
Or someone who spoke to me like that.
And yet—
I am not sure why it feels like I do now.
It does not make sense.
But it does not feel wrong either.
I will sleep soon.
My thoughts feel slower than usual.
As if even they are returning to rest.
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