Page 186 of Of Iron and Moonlight

“Let’s hear it,” Kalaetzu encouraged.

“It’s not… an ending,” Njall said, a little steadier. His hands flexed once against his knees. “But it would give us something to move toward while we decide what comes next.” He drew in a breath that faltered slightly. “And it might honor Lorrain. Honor what she bought us with her final breath.”

Elara looked up sharply, anticipation and caution tangling in her chest.

“What is it?” Gavriel asked, wary but tentative.

“The explosion destroyed most of the oraivane,” Njall said. “Months of supply meant to refuel the army. Gone. That alone will slow Oorlon’s forces. But not enough.”

Gavriel’s brow furrowed. “So?”

“So we continue what she began and destroy what remains.”

Gavriel blinked, horrified. “You mean… go back to Celestine Isle?”

Njall shook his head. “The army is marching east. What they already packed is traveling with them in wagons. We follow the supply line and ruin it quietly. Without the draught, Oorlon’s human army becomes nearly useless in battle.”

Kalaetzu considered this, then nodded slowly. “It’s true. Losing the island stock weakened them. Losing what travels with the army would cripple them entirely.”

Elara rose abruptly and walked away from the circle.

Kalaetzu watched her. “What do you think, Elara?”

“I'm… I will not go anywhere with him.” She could not bring herself to say his name.

Kalaetzu followed her and gently clasped her arms to still her shaking. “I know you are hurting, child,” he said quietly. “But it’s a sound plan. And a fitting way to honor her.”

Elara bit her lip, brushing away a tear with the heel of her hand. “Is there a way to ruin it without another explosion? Ashvael root vapor is too dangerous. But what about that weed you mentioned? The… um…”

Kalaetzu raised a brow, a flicker of encouragement breaking through his weariness. “The vaelthorn creeping vine. Yes. You remembered.”

“Could it work?” Gavriel asked from behind them.

“It could,” Kalaetzu said. “Vaelthorn disrupts most compounds. Exposure to the smoke of a burning sprig would render the oraivane draught inert.”

“That would take weeks,” Gavriel said, sounding deflated.

“We have the time,” Kalaetzu answered softly.

“And vaelthorn grows abundantly in the Norrelian lowlands,” Elara added, turning back toward them.

“Then we have a way forward,” Njall said quickly, pushing to his feet. He still looked solemn, but his eyes no longer drifted without aim. “I’ll catch breakfast, then go to Lunnholm for supplies. After that, we track the army.” He strode with purpose toward the tree line.

Gavriel rose more slowly. “What does the vine look like? I’ll begin searching.”

Kalaetzu crouched and tilted his head, listening to the earth beneath them. After a moment, he held his hands over a patch of frozen soil. Steadily, a vine pierced the surface and unfurled across the frost.

“Like this,” he said, standing. “Narrow, star-shaped leaves and pale-yellow veins. It clings close to the ground.”

Gavriel turned toward the brush, looking grateful for even the slightest direction.

Elara remained where she was, arms wrapped loosely around her middle. Njall’s proposal struck her like both arrow and lifeline, and she found herself replaying yesterday’s events again and again. The shouting. The ash. The moment everything broke.

I had already decided I could not live like this.

“She gave up,” Elara breathed. A helpless sob tore free. “How could she? How could she choose not to try?”

Kalaetzu set a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I do not know how your human faith commemorates a loss,” he said softly, giving her space to cry, “but in Tsuchitsa, we build a cairn of stone and offer a breath of remembrance to Hanura. Stone is sacred to her. Not because it is beautiful. But because it endures.” He squeezed her shoulder lightly. “Stone is not born. It does not die. It changes only with great patience. When we stack stones for someone we have lost, we say they have become part of what endures. That their presence will not fade from the world or from us.”