Daybreak pressed against Erith’s eyelids, warm and persistent. The faint clatter of wood and distant voices stirred the still air.

“C’mon, Erith, if we’re late again Sandin will keep us cleaning tools for the rest of the week,” a voice rang into the tent.

He dreamt of a open field, its grass swaying under the silver glow of moonlight. One more minute couldn’t hurt. Letting the warmth linger on his eyelids, he refused the morning a little longer.

A soft cloth abruptly smacked Erith in the face. He slowly opened his eyes to find his vest lying across his chest.

Peeking through the tent flap was Elian, his red hair glowing like embers against the morning light. His youthful face held a mix of irritation and amusement as he dangled Erith's belt in hand. 

“Fine, keep at it then. You’ll be fixing the mesh on your own the rest of the week. My fingers are flayed from the past few days,” Elian retorted, his impatience showing.

Erith sat upright with a yawn and stretched, running a hand through his hair to push it out of his eyes. Just as he reached for the rest of his clothing, Elian tossed the belt at him.

“Throw another thing at me, and you’ll be lucky to have fingers left to complain about.” Erith grinned as he began fastening his belt.

Elian returned the grin, mischief sparking in his eyes. "Oh, so you're actually in the mood to get your hands dirty today? I’ll let the kitchen know—they'd love the help chopping vegetables. Now hurry up, it’s your turn to break down the tent.” With a quiet chuckle, Elian slipped out through the tent flap.

The cool morning breeze greeted Erith as he stepped outside and began dismantling his camp amid the dew-soaked field. Around him, sifters packed their camps, their boots rustling through tall grass toward the assembly point.

“The Warden is leading exercises today,” Elian said, helping Erith toss the remains of the tent into the pack.

Changing course? It didn’t seem like something the Warden would bother to announce. Erith mulled this over while sitting down, fastening the straps of the heavy pack around his shoulders.

Elian shot Erith a look and extended a hand to help him to his feet. “Let’s get going before you give the Warden a reason to know who we are. I should have swapped kitchen duties with Minisk when I had the chance.”

“Minisk did us all a favor by keeping you off kitchen duties. One stew from you and the entire Pining Frost Expedition would be wiped out. Murasi couldn’t even manage that,” Erith smirked as Elian pulled him upright.

“I undercook one meal and suddenly I’m a menace—”

“One meal none of us will forget,” Erith interrupted, a teasing glint in his eye. “I’m still recovering from eating that disaster. You’ve got a real gift, Elian, truly." Elian sighed theatrically and let out a small laugh as they fell in line with the rest of the assembly. But his grin faded, and his voice dropped to a quieter tone. “Fine, but even that doesn’t compare to Murasi lately.” He scanned around warily, his earlier amusement slipping away. “You heard about the Morvathi Guard, didn’t you? Do you think Minisk was right about what he said the other day?”

Erith could sense the worry creeping into Elian’s thoughts, and he followed his gaze to the sifters filing into neat rows ahead of them. As they approached, Erith gestured for Elian to join him near the back, hoping to soothe his friend’s unease.

“It explains the extra Kaida for the cart. We were too young to know what it was like before the drought. The old guys like Bereth say sifting was simple back then. Plenty to sift, nothing to be scared of. Maybe with less Kaida around it stirs up Murasi.”

Erith paused as they settled into their spot within the forming rows. Elian helped lower the pack to the ground, his fingers lingering absently on the straps. The flicker of worry in his eyes was faint, but it hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“Hey—you’ve seen it yourself, Elian. Trouble with Murasi is rare, and when it happens, it's someone wandering off alone. Nothing hurting us with the barrier cart nearby.” Elian shifted uneasily as Erith spoke.

Before Elian could reply, a sharp whistle bellowed across the field, silencing the chatter. 

The crowd’s gaze followed the Warden as he strode through the morning haze onto a small wooden platform, his movements unhurried yet purposeful. His boots clunked on the platform as he stepped to the center. 

Sunlight grazed his face as he stood tall, framed by parting clouds. Neatly trimmed hair and a well-kept beard contrasted with a weathered vest, streaked gray with yellow markings. His expression left no room for disobedience.

As he stood on the platform, the Warden peered out into the crowd, assessing the precision of the sifters’ formation. 

“Drills and meals will be swift. Mealtime is halved today. Officers will monitor form. Do not give them cause for delay.”

“Yes Warden,” the crowd echoed in unison.

The Warden allowed no pauses between exercises, and the sifters pushed through their routine under the officers’ sharp patrol, knowing even a small mistake would mean double wagon duty.

As the drills progressed, carts of dull swords and wooden sticks clattered down the rows. Officers passed out weapons to each pair.

“This year, every sifting pair will carry a sword,” the Warden’s voice carried across the field. “Defensive drills are now part of the morning routine. Use this time wisely—your life may depend on it should the situation arise.”

Erith grabbed the sword and stick, passing the sword to Elian with a small nod.

Elian stepped into the drill, his sword gripped tightly. The first strike jolted Erith’s arms, harder than necessary, leaving him scrambling to brace for the next blow.

“Hold up,” the officer barked, stepping toward them, eyes on Elian. “You’re forcing it.”

Elian hesitated, the tension still visible in his stance. “What do you mean?” he asked, confused.

“You’re swinging like it’s all about strength,” the officer said, stepping closer. He tapped Elian’s sword with his own, giving him a knowing look. “That blade won’t cut through a Murasi, but the Kaida in it just might. Save your energy—let the sword do the work.”

Elian peered down at the blade, then over at Erith, who raised a brow. “Guess I was swinging a bit hard.”

“You think?” Erith gave a wry smile, settling into position again. “Figured you were fed up with me sleeping in and thought it'd be easier to put me down right here.”

As they resumed, Elian’s movements became more controlled. Erith felt the determination in his strikes, but the reckless force had given way to a more focused, deliberate rhythm. 

The clang of swords faded as the Warden stepped forward, signaling the sifters to halt.

Erith’s muscles burned, the weight of the sword in his grip the only thing keeping him steady. He leaned heavily on it, forcing his breath to steady so he could catch what the Warden would say.

“The Scouts confirmed that the storms moved more west than anticipated. The storms were most active around Caldis Reach. The shortest route takes us through the Narrows. We’ll move out in an hour. Dismissed.”

“Yes Warden," the crowd echoed once more, their voices strained, burdened by the weight of the Warden's words.

Erith and Elian exchanged a glance, and without a word, they turned toward the cooking tent, unspoken thoughts passing silently between them. The Narrows—the very name carried an unshakable sense of foreboding within Erith.

Had the drought truly worsened so much they'd risk taking us through there, of all places?

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