“Oh Kethra, I’m so very sorry,” Elohre whispers. “Are you all right?” Kethra rubs her head, her eyes a little unfocused. She traces some patterns in the air, muttering something. Elohre senses the strange, quiet power of the earth at work, and then Kethra touches her own head in a deliberate movement. She blinks a few times and her vision clears, the bruises fading. She sits up. Lianthe offers her hand. Any trace of apology that might have been in her is masked too greatly by pride – her expression is neutral. Kethra picks up her spear, plants it firmly in the earth and pulls herself up without help. She glowers at Lianthe and Elohre. Her voice is quiet, her anger small and contained, and terrifying, like a parent’s rebuke.
	“Come on. We have work to do.” 
Shamed, neither Elohre nor Lianthe utter a word. The four of them return to the village in heavy silence.