They came in a long boat down the river. At the front sat the Prince and his wife, they sang in the night and the moon poured into the water as their voices mingled. Their eyes both were bright green and seemed like spotlights when their glances fell on us. I looked away each time, and Caira would ask me what was wrong but I never answered. Something about this all shamed me greatly, though I couldn't place just what. It wasn't the betrayal; I had never been steadily loyal to anyone before. Maybe it was whom we were betraying our companions to. Something about these people disgusted me.

We watched from the shore until dawn, when Himoa woke, and found us. My body was sore from ducking behind the brush for so long, and mud coated my legs and hands. I looked down; bits of shells of the river had pierced my hands and dark blood now mingled with the muck.

"Leave," Himoa said, and her eyes stung mine with loathing venom. She did not look at Caira. The girl cast one look of dread upon the face of Himoa, and retreated on fleet toes back into the murky forest.

I stood slowly and walked past Himoa. Now regret held me fast. It was not the disloyalty, as I have said before, but to be caught in a most pitiful attempt at disloyalty, I felt my little etching of pride melt like wax in the hot sun.

My cotton grass bed felt like cold stone. I suddenly came to feel the straw as iron, and the blankets as ice.

This bed. This unworthy bed they had given me.

I slept on the floor.

The next morning silence choked my ears. The abhorrent scent of gore hung in air. Gloom was spilled over the town even as the sun rose. As I awoke out of my wretched dreams, I knew the Prince's soldiers had come, and killed most, and stolen the rest. Himoa yet would have been the only to escape. She would have left for the capital, and tell there of all that she had seen. And at the pyramid of those to be fabled and told of for ages to come of the ruin of the wonder of Palath, I would stand ever at the top.