212 Dust Clouds: Part 3

The chill of the desert night was bone-biting.

The Steel Lord sat by the fire as he looked at the little girl who Ishak had brought along.

Fear was etched on her face as two lines of tears cut through the muck on her dirty face. She was no more than nine years old, her frame small and skinny. Not only she had a broken arm, but she also had no tongue. She could not speak.

"Do you fear death?" Valgariah asked, his voice flat.

The girl simply stared at him, not understanding what he was trying to say.

"Forget that." Valgariah did not pursue the matter. He was a noble of Blackfeather City, the patriarch of his proud lineage, these sort of tragic scenes, was all too common for him.

If not for her eyes that looked like his son's, if not for his master's orders…