"I'm bound north," he said, "It's time for me to go home, back to the tundra and my tribe. I've debts to settle and stories to tell, and my birthright to reclaim. I'm ready now to face them, now that I'm a proper shaman." He looked a question past Candlemas.
Knucklebones hitched her belt, settled her black-bladed elven knife on her hip. Her one green eye stared back.
"I'll go."
That brought a smile of thanks from Sunbright.
Slump-shouldered, infinitely weary, Candlemas only nodded.
"Then there's nothing else to say."
"One thing." Sunbright said, holding out a scarred, brown hand. "Thank you, friend."
Candlemas clasped hands, was dully surprised to find how strong his own hand felt in the barbarian's big one.
"Yes," the mage said. "Thank you, friend. You'll be a great shaman, for you've taught me much already."
"And you'll cure the crop blight magically, and save simple folk from suffering, so they'll sing praises to your name. I can prophesy that."
Candlemas smiled weakly in thanks.
They turned and walked away. Two north, one south.