Ganil nods his appreciation of Vincenzo's voiced hope for peace and embraces Maui as he would a long lost brother. For Sylla his smile expresses his pleasure with her attempt to speak his language but it is tinged with sadness at the remembrance of his daughter. After a brief hesitation he nods.
"Of course, you carried her spirit with you, it is only right. Then we shall feast in her memory, your victories, and the peace that we shall hammer out tonight." Ganil motions to the majority of the warriors gathered with him.
"Take care of their mounts as if they were your own. Stow their gear in the yurt we have given for their use. Aoro, Jhulae, with me."
The men and women of Ganil's band make no complaint as they come to care for your possessions. They say words of greeting and welcome, a few stumbling with the common tongue, a few speaking in the tongue of the Goti. The stoic Aoro remains, as does a young woman with a smear of ochre across her face. The woman is fierce looking and obviously a warrior of Ganil's warband but regards the group with a bleak passivity.
Ganil strides quickly through the camp approaching a yurt set apart from all the others that make up the camp. The only thing that distinguishes it from the others are the banners that flank its doors: they are festooned with bits of horn, feather, woven grass, twig, and fur until they look like some sort of strange creature's carcass. He passes the yurt with its strange adornment and stops at the edge of a circle of burnt grass marked with encircling symbols made of some chalky, white earth.
A man walks deliberately here, stepping among the symbols, sprinkling a powder at intervals, and chanting in a monotone. The man himself is short and stooped and at first glance appears old. His hair is long and greying, he wears a robe that is split down the center to facilitate riding. After the man makes a complete circuit he stops in front of Ganil. Upon closer look all can see he is younger than thought at first glance: his face is unlined and his eyes are strikingly blue and not clouded with age. Ganil bows in respectful greeting.
"Tuumor, the warriors and spirit-talkers from the north have come to pay their respects to the spirit of my daughter."
The shaman bobs his head in the direction of Sylla, Maui, and Vincenzo and his eyes flick to Boots and Taniwha before he speaks.
"Ashes remain, the spirit runs free. It is well that the circle is mended and that those who brought that about are here."
• • • Ganil Susack • • • • • • • Aoro, scout • • • • • • • Jhulae Taraw • • • • • Tuumor, shaman • •
