06. Return to Nevalı Çori
Battered, bruised and beyond exhausted, Skara ran as fast as his legs would carry him out through the city gates, putting as much distance as possible as quickly as possible between himself and the ramshackle sprawl of Çatalhöyük. As scattered and confused as the city guard now were, he knew that it would only be a matter of time before He-Tauhasa’s soldiers had either cornered and trapped, or else put the monster called Murmesh to death before then realising that he too had made his escape. He knew also that there were an almost endless number of seasoned hunters and trackers in the service of the king, and that with their skill and better knowledge of the wide, flat lands surrounding the city they would likely close in on him within hours.
He ran due north for several miles, following the largest of the many rivers that fed the estuary before branching east and making his way quickly and quietly back up the long and gradual incline that his captors had brought him down several days earlier. He was very careful to mask his footsteps, backtracking in several places as he went but he knew that this would do little to slow down the skilled hunters of the south who would be spurred-on by the promises of great reward for his recapture.
He realised that his only real hope of evading them would be to reach the rolling hills west of the valley, hills which he knew like the back of his hand and where he might at least have a chance at finding refuge either in the company of other southern families nearby the valley, or else otherwise in the thick forests around the edges of the lower lands. It didn’t help that he’d had to make his escape in broad daylight, and although there were dense woods dotting the landscape around the city, there were all too many long stretches of open grassland that he would have to cross before finding any real cover.
He gritted his teeth and simply ran and ran for hours until his legs ached, his lungs burned and his heart felt as though it would give out at any moment. Already mid-afternoon, the wind was blowing east which favoured him, but carried on every strong gust were the far-off calls and voices of those in pursuit, ever so faint but growing louder as the hours wore away. Eventually, he followed a small stream which he knew would lead him toward higher ground and stopped to rest once he had reached a particularly thick crop of trees, perhaps only one quarter of the way to safety.
At the top of a rise within the wood he came across a large limestone outcrop from which a small waterfall cascaded, fed from somewhere within the rocks and he knew he could safely stop and drink the water, rest his legs and wash the dozens of small cuts and open wounds on the soles of his feet that he had suffered running barefoot from the city. He drank his fill from where it landed, taking care not to overdo it and run the risk of a cramp before he needed to again press on. To get a better view of the path he had taken and to also discreetly scan for his pursuers, he carefully climbed to the top of the rise and from behind the thick scrub, peered out over the lower lands and across the incline behind him for any sign of movement. Far off in the distance, he could clearly see the dark blotch of Çatalhöyük on the horizon and the telltale plumes of smoke which rose from the many open hearths of the city, and could also make out the tiny, dark shapes of what must have been large hunting parties moving slowly away from it. “Good,” he thought to himself, “they’re such a distance away still that I might actually have a chance at losing them.”
After several long minutes spent making sure that all were in fact a safe distance away and accounted for, he rose from his position behind the thicket and turned to make his way over the rise and continue on his journey. As he turned to leave however, he heard an unmistakeable whistle shoot past his left ear, followed immediately by a faint splash as something struck the stone behind the waterfall next to him and dropped into the stream below. “Arrows..!” his mind screamed, “They’re already here..!” He froze for two-tenths of a second, terrified his poor legs would not react and carry him to safety as he knew the next one’s aim would be true.
Thankfully without another moment’s hesitation, he bounded through the dark trees leading out of the rise and launched himself into the thick forest above it, quickly finding a second wind and moving at a speed he didn’t even think was possible. Thoughts raced through his mind as he heard a man’s voice calling out for him to stop, and he considered among many things turning around and facing his attacker head-on. He remembered then that he had nothing practical with which to defend himself, and in spite of his size and strength was at that moment very hungry, weak and almost completely out of breath.
The forest was dark and damp, and branches whipped and tore at him as he fled. Old cedar trees rose up everywhere, and the higher branches of these interlocked above his head to form a thick ceiling which only let a small amount of light through where gaps had formed. Large slabs of granite jutted out intermittently from the forest floor, which was itself uneven and in places held large pools of murky water. Several times Skara nearly came crashing to the ground as he slipped on fallen logs and rocks all covered in a bright green, slick moss that seemed to grow over everything, and those wounds that he had washed on his feet again tore open in several places as he failed to safely navigate sharper stones and branches. After sprinting for a time, he could no longer hear the footfalls or cries of his pursuer and started to believe that he just might succeed in outrunning him.
He considered then finding refuge in the canopies above, his eyes darting about as he ran searching for a strong and reliable tree that he might climb to stop leaving tracks, at least until his attacker had caught up to him but he knew that there was still not enough of a distance between them that he could risk doing so unseen. His only option was to run, and the only way to run was forward. He began to tire as he weaved through the trees, his legs now burning and his lungs feeling as though they might explode. “Surely I can’t go on much further,” he thought to himself, “I’m not built for running, and not for such long distances.”
As his strength faded completely he realised that it was only a matter of time before he would have to slow, and then eventually stop altogether. Just as he was considering whether surrender might in fact be a viable option, the wood through which he was being chased thinned out, and eventually opened into a wide clearing which rose toward what he could only guess were the early beginnings of the rolling hills. He had travelled a great distance, but was still too far away from safety. As he cleared the wall of trees, he immediately veered left and slid haphazardly behind a large group of granite boulders which might have at least offered coverage and protection for several seconds. He had no idea how close his assailant now was (he had not heard his footsteps or cries for several minutes), but exhausted and physically spent, he lay still where he landed and caught his breath as carefully as he dared.
For several long moments, Skara lay behind a large boulder at the edge of the clearing. “If the archer was as close behind me as I think he was,” he thought to himself, “then there is no way that when he reaches this clearing he’ll believe that I have crossed.” He dared not move however, and keeping his head cocked low strained his ears for any noises from the forest wall. He heard nothing. Not footsteps, not the telltale snap of branches underfoot. Several more minutes passed, and he raised himself up into a crouching position, still careful not to allow any part of his body to be seen over the top of the boulder. His gaze fell upon a strong and sturdy length of cedar branch where he hid, and very slowly and carefully picked it up, waiting even longer before making the decision to peer over the rock to see if there was any sign of his assailant. “Perhaps,” he thought with a brazen optimism, “I did lose him in the woods, and the way ahead is safe for the moment. If it is, surely it would be foolish to continue to wait here, while the others catch up to me..” He nervously placed a palm on the boulder and slowly eased himself up.
Just before he could raise himself higher to take a look however, several nesting grouse were disturbed at the edge of the clearing only several yards from where he hid and the sound of quiet cursing could be heard. The archer had indeed trailed him, and was now standing directly on the other side of the huge boulder, searching the clearing for signs of Skara’s entry into the open. His mind raced as he considered his situation; within seconds, the other man would find his tracks and notch his bow, leaving him without any defence whatsoever. The hunter might of course be armed with a long blade, which he could also at that moment be wielding and prepared to use as soon as he dove out from his sanctuary to meet him.
“In either case,” he thought to himself, his mind already made up, “my only chance is to strike now, and continue running for the hills. Lingering here can only be a death sentence.” And so after saying a quiet prayer to Anu, he began to square himself up, gripped the heavy branch tightly in his massive hands and tensed his muscles for what would be his one and only chance of escape.
Like a coiled spring, Skara leapt over the boulder he had hid behind and swung the large branch with all his strength at the unsuspecting hunter, who himself was only seconds away from peering over the top of it. The blow was true and caught the other man completely by surprise, striking him square on the right side of his head and sending him crashing into a pile of rocks and branches. Skara was shaking as he composed himself, but could not take any chances in risking that the hunter might continue his pursuit or alert the others and so struck the man several more times with the branch to ensure that if he did survive, it would be more than just a few minutes before he awoke. Skara puffed heavily and threw the branch into the woods, pausing only momentarily to catch his breath before searching the hunter for weapons.
As he struck the pile of rocks, the hunter had landed on his bow, snapping it clean in half. “Damn it to hell,” Skara swore under his breath. In addition to being able to accurately fell game from a half-mile away with a spear, he was a more than capable archer and the bow would have come in handy in warning off the rest of his pursuers.
He pulled several barbed arrows and a medium-sized ivory blade from the hunter’s tunic, and making sure that there were no other items which might assist him, left the body where it lay. He draped several leafy branches to cover it and made his way across the clearing and into the gentle hills beyond. “That was too close,” he thought to himself as he entered the safety of the forest once more. “If one of them managed to sneak up on me like that, surely there can’t be others too far away, perhaps already in the woods. I’ll need to move more quickly, and take better care not to leave an obvious trail.” He tore several strips of cloth from his tunic before pressing on, and tied these around his feet in an effort to protect the worst of his injuries. It was mid-afternoon now, and he knew that he needed to find some sort of shelter wherein he might light a small fire once the Sun had gone down. He scoured his surroundings as he ran on, peering through the dense forest for any signs in the landscape that he might have recognised.
“I remember that there were kin from the valley that settled in the hills west of Nevalı Çori, many years ago. I wonder if they are still near, and whether I might find refuge with them.” Skara was remembering his father’s brother, Omer who had left the green valley following his father’s death to chance his fortune and the livelihood of his wife and three sons in the wilderness, alone. He had not seen his uncle in many years, as they had seldom had cause to return to the village and had taken issue with the growing influence of the capital on the day-to-day affairs of its people. This, Skara felt could work in his favour given his current situation, if of course they were still local to the area and if they even wanted any part in the mess that he had gotten himself into. He pressed on deeper into the forest, finding the landscape to gradually steepen as he progressed further into the undulating hills southwest of his home.
After another couple of hours navigating the woods, he came to a single barren peak that jutted out of the surrounding forest and which might serve well to provide him a clear and uninterrupted view of his surrounds. Careful to listen for any sounds of movement through the undergrowth before he did, he ascended the stony crag and carefully looked about him to find his position. The forest canopy below stretched as far north and south as he could see, and the clearing to the west that he had crossed earlier was now only a lighter patch of green in the very far distance. Looking out east, he noticed that the undulating hills preceding the valley rose only steeper, but he could just make out the definite shape of the final summit ridge on the horizon, after which he could begin his descent into the valley. Curiously, in the quickly fading light he also noticed a faint plume of smoke rising from a fire that had been lit at the southern end of the ridge. The smoke was too far away for him to see whether people or any sort of shelter surrounded it, but he decided that if he hurried on his way, he just might be able to make it to the source before darkness completely closed in.
He climbed down from the rocky crag and prayed quickly for speed and safety, before setting off east once more. He had not heard the sounds of his pursuers since leaving the clearing, and allowed himself to relax a little and focus more of his attention on safely navigating the steeper terrain rather than just blindly covering it. As he reached a higher elevation, the trees became larger and the undergrowth wilder and more invasive. He used the blade that he had taken from the archer at the clearing to machete his way forward, cutting away at branches that appeared to have stitched themselves together. After another couple of hours of this, he stopped momentarily to rest within the shelter of a large juniper tree, crouching inside a wide hollow in its trunk. He had not rested for more than five minutes before he again picked up on the faint sound of voices somewhere in the lower forest behind him. He immediately sprang-to from his hiding place, and set off once more in the direction of true east. “If I can’t make it to that settlement,” he thought to himself, remembering the plume of smoke atop the valley ridge, “then I’m well and truly done for.”
The last hour of twilight turned out to be a game of cat and mouse, with Skara desperately trying to ascend to the far ridge and the voices and calls in the woods behind him growing stronger and louder as he went. Just as the last rays of evening light sank beneath the horizon, the forest suddenly became deathly quiet and Skara stopped and held his breath to listen for his pursuers. To his horror, the familiar whistle of an arrow flying by broke the silence, and several voices – four or five if he heard correctly, called out for him to stop where he was immediately and surrender. He ignored their warnings, as he didn’t doubt for one second that He-Tauhasa had demanded he be brought back to the city dead or alive (and in however many pieces they deemed practical), and bounded up the side of the ridge which steepened drastically as he neared the summit.
“Almost there,” he thought to himself, as several more arrows whistled past him and lodged themselves into the trunks of trees behind. He gritted his teeth and for the last few hundred yards, broke into a wild sprint, climbing to the top of the valley ridge as if he were part animal. Once over the summit, he continued his marathon in the direction of the plume of smoke that had caught his eye earlier and as he neared the clearing and headed for the source of the fire, the thick trees of the forest thinned out and he broke into a brisk walk, in an attempt to finally catch his breath. For a brief and fleeting moment, it seemed as though he had finally broken away.
He was no more than twenty or thirty yards from breaking through the wall of the forest when he heard a loud cracking sound in the darkness behind him, and the unmistakeable stretching sound of a bowstring being loaded. “Stop right where you are, thief,” called a voice from somewhere in the shadows. The voice seemed a little unsure of itself and sounded like it belonged to a younger man, but Skara dared not turn around, stopping immediately and stretching his arms wide in a gesture of submission. Already the dark shadows of the woods around him were ever so wanly illuminated by the roaring fire in the settlement ahead, the light from which broke through the trees in front of him. As he stood motionless and before he could speak, another voice called out to him, “Drop your weapon, and get on your knees. You’re surrounded and outnumbered – don’t try to do anything foolish.” It was another young man, and again Skara obeyed, dropping his long knife quickly onto the ground beside him and half turning his head to respond.
By this time, Skara was almost beyond caring. He was completely exhausted, spiritually drained and had finally come to terms with the fact that the fight, for him, was well and truly over. “What has your king Ihreikas promised you for my capture..?” he called back hoarsely, “I truly hope it is enough for the work I’ve put you through.” He gasped as he struggled to fill his lungs, continuing, “If you’re going to kill me, then hurry up and kill me. I could use the rest.” He then dropped to his knees, and coughed violently as he finally regained composure and his powerful heartbeat began to slow. Strangely, the voices from the dark said nothing more to Skara for several moments. Instead, he heard low whispers from the two as they bickered among themselves, one of them sounding quite exasperated as they argued.
He could not quite make out what they were saying, but before he had a chance to ask who they were, the second voice again called out to him: “Are you.. of the valley..?” Skara was immediately confused, as the young man continued, “What is your name, stranger..? If you’re not a raider, then who are you, and what are you doing wandering so close to our home..?” Skara thanked the Gods..! He realised straight away that he hadn’t been captured by those huntsmen set out to return him to the city. These must have been men from the settlement up ahead and so he relaxed ever so slightly, but chose his next words extremely carefully:
“I am only an honest hunter from the valley, like yourselves. I have come from the capital to escape punishment for defying the king where I felt his Seers had failed him. My name is Skara Tau, and if you would help me return to the valley which is my home, I would tell no-one that you did.” He stiffened slightly, and felt it necessary to provide a little more information to the two, for all their sakes, “I have been pursued from the lowlands west of here for a day now, and those who would seek to take me back to the capital cannot be very far behind. I beg you, please help me find safe passage home, and keep me from their slings and arrows.” He was placing a high amount of faith in his own dealings with the more isolated families that lived in the hills around and beyond his village, knowing that while most of them had either feared or despised the leadership of Ihreikas whose rule they saw as an interference in their affairs, there might too be those more loyal to the house of the king that might very well fire arrows into his back regardless for such talk.
He did not have to wait too long to find out, however, as no sooner had he finished speaking he was knocked clear off his feet and onto the ground by one of the young men in the dark, the other laughing as he yelled, “Skara, our cousin from the valley..! Is it really you..?” He was shocked and confused for several seconds, before the words sunk in and he realised who it was that had captured him. “Skara..!” the other voice called out, “What in all the Gods names are you doing here..? We thought you were a raider..!” the other adding, “And what’s this talk of punishment now, and of that pompous upstart, the king..? Come, follow us into our home and the light and let’s get a look at you..!” Somehow, Skara had managed to bump into two of his three cousins, the children of his father’s brother and had nearly stumbled right on into their encampment atop the valley ridge. The three of them moved out of the darkness of the forest without and after their eyes adjusted to the light of a roaring fire in the clearing, he laughed and clasped the two of them tightly. It was the first time in days that he had felt anything near to genuine happiness.
The two young men that had confronted him were the eldest of his uncle’s children, Asher being the oldest and Zemer the middle child. They were in their late teenage years now, and had already had many years of experience hunting with their father, Omer. Skara soon learnt that Madala, their Mother had passed-on shortly after the family had left the village, leaving the four men to look after themselves and the family home. Yemah, the youngest of the three brothers was only just at an age where he was allowed to join them as they hunted the forests around their small wooden house, however was still not yet able to accompany his brothers as they hunted by night. Skara and his two cousins moved around the fire and into the wooden house to greet Omer, and talk more of the road that Skara had taken and what threat might yet still find them at the house if they did not take precautions.
The three of them entered the house, and Zemer immediately called out to his father, announcing, “Father, we have returned, and you will never guess what we have found in the woods..!” There was a small fire pit in the far end of the larger, central room of the dwelling, which itself was a rough but solid collection of large wooden logs, piled up and interlocked at every corner so as to keep the chill winter air of the upper ridge at bay. Animal skins were piled throughout the floor of the house and secured to cover any gaps in the walls and ceiling, which itself was a thick layer of stretched auroch hide. Skara was more than thankful to be out of the cold, and nearly wept with happiness when offered a cut of wild rabbit that was roasting over the inner hearth. After a minute, Omer could be heard moving around from within the smaller rear room of the dwelling, cursing as his foot struck something hard and heavy in the darkness. He emerged from the back room, immediately regarding Skara with a mixed look of faint recognition and mistrust.
Skara’s only memories of Omer were always linked to those of his own father, as the two twin brothers were almost inseparable while he was growing up and they both still lived in the valley. Agar, his father and his brother were not unlike Skara and his own half-brother Andar in a way, both sets of brothers somewhat of a living legend among the people of Nevalı Çori. Both of them were also extremely tall and brutishly strong, and had always tried to outdo each other when it came to any physical labour or challenges that might have been issued by their friends, family and each other. Whenever a task such as reinstating the wheel of a broken cart arose, or the opportunity to demonstrate their strength was given, they both leapt at the chance to prove themselves. It was unfortunately this friendly competition that in the end, worked to break them apart, and which resulted in Agar’s untimely death.
When Skara was only thirteen years old, he had accompanied both Agar and Omer, among others on a hunting trip in the eastern flats above the valley. The group had been tracking a large heard of bison that had wandered down from the north and were waiting until dusk, when the animals had settled in to sleep before deciding to strike. As the group waited by the fire in the shelter of a sandstone outcrop, out of sight of the herd, their conversation had inevitably turned once more to bravado as the two continued to promise to outdo the other at whatever feat could be suggested. Greater and greater were the boasts of strength that the two claimed to have been able to accomplish until finally another member of the group suggested that they settle their dispute once and for all by climbing to the top of the steep cliff, and lifting and hurling the largest stones over the top that they were able to. Neither of the brothers could resist the challenge, and both Agar and Omer made their way around the rise and to the top of the cliff face, where rocks and boulders of all shapes and sizes lay.
Once settled, the two brothers then took turns at heaving and hurling stones over the edge of the rock face, each one slightly larger than the last and each brother challenging the other to follow until they were lifting and dropping boulders of a mass that even they found excruciating to carry. Eventually, the two would reach a stone that either one or the other would be unable to lift, and this would be when a victor could finally be decided. At last, Omer had reached one final massive boulder, roughly the width of his shoulders and the shape of a human torso. With an almighty heave, he tried with all his might to lift the stone, and while he might have moved it several inches off from the ground and was able to drag it closer towards the edge of the cliff face, he simply could not muster the strength to lift it up and hurl it over. Finally, Agar had been given a chance to either defeat or draw with his brother, and the latter in his mind was never even an option.
With an almighty heave, Agar was himself unable to lift the stone off from the ground, and he tried and tried again to move it. Agar was only slightly taller than Omer, and his brother rounder in the belly, and Omer roared with laughter as his brother failed to do what he himself could not accomplish either. “It would seem, brother,” he had taunted, “that you and I are an even match after all – with neither of us the better man..!” Agar was incensed at the notion that he had once again been unable to best his brother, and spurred on by his taunts leaned in for one final and desperate attempt at moving the monumental stone.
He roared into the cold night air, his breath clearly visible and with one last heave finally succeeded in lifting the boulder clear off of the ground. None of the party could believe what they were seeing – he had done it..! Agar’s barrel-like arms were bursting and the veins on his neck jutted out as he looked upon his brother with the greatest satisfaction of his life. Omer’s heart sank, finally realising that he had lost, and could only shake his head. Agar’s triumphant laugh boomed across the rise, and he smiled at his brother one last time before turning to send the stone over the edge of the cliff face.
It was at that moment that the section of ground upon which he stood gave way, sending both Agar and the boulder crashing down over the edge and to the earth below. It happened so quickly that neither Skara nor any other member of the hunting party at first realised what had happened, standing dumbfounded. At one moment, his father had stood before him, appearing to him to be the strongest man in the world and the next – he was gone.
Skara would always remember this as being a turning point in his life, which contributed heavily toward the feelings of duty and responsibility that had shaped his commitment to his family, friends and people. His uncle Omer on the other hand never truly recovered, falling immediately into a deep and dark depression for many years from which Skara had not been around to see him recover.
Clearly, the loss of his brother as well as the many difficult years that followed had taken a heavy toll on the other man. As he moved out of the shadows and into the weak light of the hearth, Skara saw not the strong and proud uncle that he once knew standing before him, but the tired and weary frame of a much older, weathered and beaten man. In truth, the years following the death of his brother had not been kind to Omer. He had always blamed himself for what had happened, and in losing his twin he had also lost a large piece of himself. Omer’s decision to move his family away from the village had been in part to escape the constant reminder of his folly, and although there had always been a competitive element to their relationship, he had loved his brother Agar very dearly.
Omer hobbled out of the doorway and into the room, and placed a large left hand on Zemer’s shoulder before looking Skara up and down, remarking, “Who are you then, stranger, and what brings you up onto the ridge at this hour and to our home..?” Skara took a moment to allow his uncle to search his face for something in it that he might have recognised, before replying, “Uncle Omer, I am Skara, your brother’s son. I have travelled far from the capital, and I would greet you this night and ask for your help in finding safe passage back to the valley. I have come to harm on my journey, and there are hunters all through the woods without that would see me dead, or else returned to He-Tauhasa for accusations of heresy. I plead with you to help me in my journey.” Skara bowed his head, and waited for the other man to respond. Omer mused for a moment, narrowing his eyes and looking the valley man up and down as if trying to ascertain if he really was who he claimed to be.
After a long pause, he grunted softly before moving closer toward Skara and, placing a strong right hand on his shoulder, searched deep into the other man’s eyes. “So, Skara.. it has been many, many years since last we met. What in Anu’s name have you done, to have your so-called king send out his hunters to find you..?” He seemed to be distracted by the appearance of the other man, Skara had guessed it was because he had in many ways grown to resemble his father, and was possessed of the same strong features; long, flowing dark hair and piercing blue eyes. From a distance, he could have easily been mistaken for him, although Skara was slightly shorter and did not quite possess his father’s monstrous build. Skara replied, “It has indeed been a long time, uncle. I had heard word that you had taken your sons west of the valley, and hoped that I might find you still close by.”
He then went on to recount the events of the past few days to Omer, his sons watching on and hanging by every word as he told them of the council of Watchers and their ill-omen, of He-Tauhasa and the Seers and of his flight from the capital. When recalling Murmesh and his experiences in the great arena, Asher and Zemer were left wide-eyed and incredulous, and their younger sibling Yemah must also have been listening from the other room, as he quickly rose to join them in front of the hearth to hear the remainder of Skara’s retelling. Throughout this recollection Omer mused, cleared his throat and sighing several times and tut-tutting when Skara spoke of Ihreikas and his response to Skara’s telling of the Watchers’ interpretation. He spoke quickly and eloquently, and made it very clear to Omer that it was only a matter of time before those same hunters that had followed him from Çatalhöyük realised that he had not lingered to hide in the forests at the foot of the ridge and would arrive at his home to inquire as to his whereabouts. Once he had finished speaking, he looked to Omer with concern and waited for his uncle to process everything that he had been told.
Omer thought for a long while, carefully contemplating everything that Skara had said as he stared into the vibrant embers of the hearth. His mind raced with concern for the events that the Watchers had predicted, and with the fear of what fate might befall his sons if he did not help Skara leave the ridge and return to Nevalı Çori before the king’s hunters caught up to him. Before he could speak, Skara looked across and asked of him, “Will you help me, Uncle..? I have never needed the help of any man more in my life than at this moment. If I leave you now and continue on my way alone I fear that I will not make it back in time, if at all.” Omer paused before looking up at Skara, and responded, “I will help you.” He gestured toward his sons, “We will help you, and not just because I have no great love for Ihreikas and his order of grey ghosts. You are my brother’s son, and through his passing I am indebted to protect you,” he frowned then, “as much as I had failed to do him.”
The four of them sat solemn then for a time, before Omer rose, addressing his three sons, “Asher, Zemer – collect your spears and slings, and make sure you take all the stones you can carry. Find your sharpest blades and give one small knife to Yemah. Gather your heaviest cloaks and prepare yourselves, we are leaving for the valley and then to follow your cousin north, by way of the Eastern pass.” He turned to Skara, adding, “My boys have set traps all along the widest way through the hills and down into the valley in the hopes of bringing down larger game. It might not give us the best cover, but it will work in our favour to navigate what they have set, and hopefully slow a few of the king’s hunters down along the way.” Skara smiled a nervous smile, but was extremely grateful to his uncle for making the decision to follow him. Though their aid in reaching the valley was vital, it would have only been bittersweet if they did not join him at Uru-Mah, once Sura and his own children had been brought to join them.
In a flurry of activity, the four of them collected weaponry and provisions for their journey, and after extinguishing the fires of the settlement both inside and out, settled quietly in the dark for the remainder of the night, waiting patiently for first light before they started out. Skara himself meant to rest only for a moment, falling immediately into a deep and well needed sleep however as soon as he closed his eyes.