The sentry scanned the vast open space around the encampment, mud and grasses shades of gray in the moonlight, white tops of low stumps dotting the ground from the former green space all the way up the hill where Kile’cha lay watching with his long-glasses.  When the ha’la’ai turned away, Kile’cha lowered the glasses and crawled back down the slope.  At the bottom he stood, handed the glasses to the novice, and gestured behind him.

“They do this all night?” he asked his Second, incredulous.

Nunt’cha shook her head and snorted.  “They show us their backs as if inviting attack.”

“But are they stupid or just playing at it?”

“They have no patrols ranging,” Nunt’cha said with a shrug.  “Mos...

Please subscribe to keep reading.