Dark clouds had gathered in the afternoon as if in sympathy with the black smoke that rose from the ruins of Ironhope. The golden light of evening found a scene of desolation, but the townsfolk had been marshaled into their Rider governed marching groups, ready for departure to the lands where they would begin again. Jythra spoke with Muttu. “I know that you wish to pursue the young man who you think has damaged your honour”, he said, “but you must not do so. You have a responsibility to the people you are now charged with bringing to Pralannia. You are no longer a reckless youth, you must think of the needs of your tribe. Your father sent you here as his ambassador and you must do your duty.” The thin sound of a baby crying came on a gust of wind as Jythra finished speaking. It made the case more eloquently than the leader of the Nykwin Riders could do. Muttu nodded stiffly.