In time the nomad band became so large it could scarcely move or feed itself. Small groups split off from the main body to start their own bands in other regions. The descendants of Pakito and Samtu rode far west, beyond the once forbidding Edge of the World, and populated the lands of the sunset. Another group, led by Bahco and his children, returned to the northern seashore. When Bahco died, full of years and rich in descendants, his body was borne back across the waves to his birthplace, the seafaring lands.
Of the fifty men who had been raiders, half became full-fledged members of Karada’s band. The others drifted away, becoming lone wanderers or falling back on thievery. Karada gave the task of suppressing the backsliding raiders to Harak, It was her way of testing him, and Beramun’s mate did not fail. Every last outlaw was captured or killed, four by Harak alone.
The former raider stayed with Beramun always, and together they had six children. Their firstborn son was named Amero, and he grew to be a warrior as wise as he was fierce. He was a great favorite of his grandmother Karada, and the only one allowed to call her Nianki.
Karada lived to great age, surviving her last brother by more than two decades. In later years she left command of the band to Beramun and spent her days hunting and riding, often alone on the savanna for many days. Her feats and adventures became entwined with legend. By the time her hair was white, she took a grandchild with her on these journeys—either young Amero or her granddaughter Kinarmun—and from her they learned the ancient secrets and skills.
She ranged far and wide, and many nomads thought they saw her, silhouetted against the sunset or in a bright wreath of stars. The wanderers learned to wave respectfully to any lone figure they encountered on the plain, since any solitary rider could be Karada, watching over all the children of the plains.
Far away in time and place, the dull red orb of the sun sank toward the sea. From his perch atop the cliffs, Duranix surveyed his circular island home. In the years since leaving the Valley of the Falls, he’d grown to immense size, due in part to the spirit power infused into him long ago, but also from the diet of whale and kraken he enjoyed in the waters surrounding the island.
Aloft, Blusidar circled, leading their two offspring in their first flying lesson. She was a much better flyer than her older, heavier mate, though not as patient with her hatchlings’ mistakes. The young dragons’ stubby wings fanned hard, trying to keep up with their mother’s swift progress.
A peculiar sensation filled Duranix’s chest. It began as a small cold spot, deep within the massive layers of flying muscle. The feeling spread outward, a creeping numbness more puzzling than alarming. When it reached the tips of his claws and the crown of his horned head, it vanished as swiftly as it had come. He could remember feeling this way only one other time, and the meaning of the sensation was instantly clear.
Blusidar alighted on a ledge above him. She called rough encouragement to the dragonlets still struggling through the air, then turned with concern to her mate.
“What troubles you?” she asked.
“I fear a friend is gone,” he said quietly, meeting her wide golden eyes. “An old friend.”
“One of your humans,” said Blusidar with a sniff.
“No. Karada was no one’s human but her own. That was her curse and her strength.”
Their male hatchling, Seridanax, fluttered by, screeching for help. Though Blusidar did not approve, Duranix caught his small son in his great claws and soothed him, saying, “Don’t be afraid, little one. I will protect you.”