A few dozen kilometres down the river, where Kino's camp lay, the situation was dire.
The Owlheads had the tribe fully encircled from all sides, just as she had described.
The aggressors did not even bother to fight. It was as if they had already decided the camp belonged to them. They simply waited for the tribe to die or submit.
Had they launched an attack, the weakened tribe would not have stood a chance. Which begged the question: why had the Owlheads not delivered their ultimatum?
The attacking force seemed relaxed, content to let time do the killing for them.
The clan's leader, an old woman named Heliza, was in the middle of deciding the fate of her people. At this point, surrender was becoming a very real option.
Heliza sat inside the largest tent, a crude structure of patched hides and woven reeds. The air inside was warm and stale, heavy with the scent of damp earth, sickness, and fear. Her joints ached as she shifted her weight on the low wooden stool. Age had carved deep lines across her skin, and her eyes, once bright and sharp, now carried the exhaustion of too many sleepless nights.
Outside, she heard the faint shuffling of her people. Children whispered. Adults muttered in low, desperate voices. Every sound reminded her of the lives depending on her choice.
She forced herself to breathe slowly.
Her tribe had followed her since she was young, back when she could run, fight, and hunt beside them. Now she could hardly lift her own spear, yet they still looked to her for guidance. That trust felt like a stone resting on her chest.
She knew the Owlheads were waiting. Their circle tightened every day, closing gaps, cutting off exits, watching her people crumble. Hunger was the enemy that struck first, long before the Owlheads even needed to raise a weapon.
Heliza's hands trembled. She clasped them together to hide it.
She thought of Kino, the brave girl she had sent out in a last attempt at salvation. If Kino failed, the tribe would be forced to bend the knee. She would have to walk out to the Owlhead chief, fall to her knees, and offer what little they had left. Their freedom. Their identity. Their pride.
She imagined the younger members of the tribe being taken. The elders being cast aside as burdens. The thought made her stomach twist.
Heliza closed her eyes.
She did not fear her own death. Her bones were old. Her spirit had lived a long life. But the children… the children deserved more.
They had one or two days at most, until the Owlheads decided they had enough and imposed their own terms.
The decision had to be made now. Kino was their only hope, but Heliza could not wait much longer. She would wait until sunset. If Kino did not return by then, the elder would do what must be done.
"Come back with good news. Our future depends on it, Kino."
"So, does your tribe have a name?"
After the tense conversation between Jermal and Kino, the latter was invited to share a meal. She accepted without hesitation.
Her benefactors presented her with steaming stews, their broth thick and creamy, along with generous portions of meat and fish. Kino had almost forgotten what it meant to sit before real food. The scent alone made her eyes water.
She devoured the meal with an urgency that bordered on desperation, swallowing each bite as if the food might vanish before she could taste it.
Across from her, Jermal watched in silence, arms crossed. He thought about her question.
A name. Something that defined them. Something that distinguished this tribe from all others.
He realized they had never needed one. They had been too busy surviving, fighting fires, rebuilding, and learning. The Kramlins simply existed. They all followed the Hollow Eye. They hunted, they built, they grew. A name had never mattered.
Yet now, facing new tribes, new alliances, new threats, perhaps it did.
Jermal leaned back slightly, still considering. The firelight flickered across his black eyes and the red-grey accents of his body.
"We never named ourselves," he finally said. "Not yet."
Kino paused mid-bite, surprised. "Truly? A tribe without a name…"
"We were born from survival," Jermal replied. "Names come after that."
"Even we have a name. We are the Streakbound. Perhaps that'll be the name of our union.
He looked around. They were currently near the Sun Eater, inside one of the crude homes they had built.
From inside, he could see the ashen outline of the circle, he could feel the slightly ominous aura it gave off.
The grass inside the circle had died long ago, since no water could get in. A patch of dark soil now stood essentially in the middle of their encampment. It was delimited by the embers.
It looked like a dark sun. One that absorbs light. One that absorbs heat. One that spreads death.
"The Lightless Sun tribe. That will be our name."
Kino, mid bite, stopped. As if she could feel the weight behind the cryptic name.
Jermal hadn't disclosed the dream, or rather, the trial he experienced right after meeting the Hollow Eye for the first time. In his trial, he had to cross a canyon for months on end.
When he first woke up, his memories had been fuzzy. And now that he thought back to it, Jermal could see the full picture.
It had been hell. He hadn't thought about his "test" since he first awoke. But now, it all came rushing back. As if a seal had been broken.