By Eitros Tixe, Friend of the Tari, Former Templar of Abalach-Re

We returned from the hill with Soso Y’Likolo’s pack to find an unexpected commotion outside the caves. Tari voices rang out, frantic and chittering with a note of panic.

I caught only snatches of conversation: something about caravans, and my heart sank immediately, thinking of House M’ke outriders. But as I looked closer, I saw something far more troubling: nearly four dozen gaunt, dust-caked, and exhausted tari, some nearly crawling. They had come from Raam and bore the hollow eyes of the desperate. Some clutched small bundles of salvaged belongings; others clung to injured kin. Their fur was matted with desert grime, and they looked as though they had been on the run for days, if not weeks.

Rabekela stood beneath the cave’s natural arch, conferring with a handful of serious-looking tari. Her posture told me everything. As I approached, she offered me a tight nod.

“Eitros,” she said, “get ready, because these people will need your help.”

“By al-Soury! Raam was never great, but things must have taken a terrible turn for our people to run away like that,” exclaimed Kino, who stood beside me.

Rabekela’s lips pulled back to reveal sharp teeth. “The how and why can wait. Hurry up and prepare our houses to host them,” she muttered. “Raam might leave the desperate to die like vermin in the desert, but no one will say the same for the tari of Okarath.”

Soso had joined us at some point, silent for once, feathers fluttering in the desert breeze that trickled through the cave mouth. His black eyes were unreadable.

“The winds do not carry good tidings,” he declared softly. Then he flicked his tail, his voice turning shrill: “But even in a sandstorm, there’s a glimmer for those with sharp eyes. Let’s see how this one settles.”

I felt a knot forming in my stomach as we reached the first refugees. Tarps and small bedrolls were laid out in one of the more spacious caverns, the refugees huddling in clusters around dim lanterns. Kino and I moved among them, offering water and scraps of food, listening to stories of violence and betrayal in Raam.

“The Queen’s Arch is nothing but rubble,” whispered a trembling elder. “We used to shelter near there. But the gangs…”

“They burned the temple district,” added another, “claiming it was full of plague rats. So many died; tari, humans… everyone.”

Each new horror story sapped what little optimism I’d had. Raam, it seemed, was devouring itself from within.

Pressures on the Hills

Ordinarily, the tari of Okarath might have taken in a few refugees. But four dozen newly arrived mouths was a stark reality check. Though the hunts had been successful, and the packs had just harvested mastyrial eggs, resources were never bountiful. Every grain of rice, every sip of water, every scrap of chitin from the scorpions was rationed.

Rabekela glanced at me, her expression conflicted. As the refugees were led deeper into the caves, I lingered with her, Soso, and a handful of other pack leaders. Kino stood at my side, watchful and silent. No one wanted to turn these tari away, but deep down, everyone wondered if we had the means to support them.

“We cannot simply absorb them,” one of the pack elders finally blurted out, arms folded. “We’ve just finished the mastyrial hunt and the orchard harvest. That was our food supply for the season. We’ll be starving within 2 months with them.”

Soso considered his words. “If the wind blows unexpectedly, do we curse the wind? Or find a way to sail with it?”

“We are not an endless well,” another tari leader protested. “We barely have enough water as it is!”

Rabekela held up a clawed hand for silence. “Yet these are our kin,” she said quietly. “We cannot pretend they are not.”

Her words hung in the still air. No one could muster a rebuttal.

In the corner, one of the refugees, a middle-aged female with hollow cheeks, begged, “We will work! We will help gather from the desert… anything.” She clutched a young tari close, perhaps her daughter. The child’s eyes were red from crying. Most of the pack leaders looked at their feet, ashamed.

Soso knelt beside them, placing a hand gently on the mother’s arm. “Give us time,” he said. “Wind will find a way for all of us.”