Oren had stepped up to the dais with his offering, now he stepped down. For a brief moment, his teeth flashed a smile. 

            “When the Gibbor asked me to deliver this, I was skeptical of its importance. Now, I no longer doubt.”

            “My father is released!” The King lifted the feather for all to see. “At last, he begins his path in the Deep! He spun the feather by its spine until the blue was lost and it became a dark sphere. “I fought a bloody, senseless war, but I’d do it again to have this. My thanks, Oren Whitehair. I’ll make a suitable reply to the Gibbor before you go. The chamberlain will see you to your room.” 

            “Majesty, there is more,” said the Hunter.

            “More?” Ranald broke into a coughing fit. “A feather for me, no doubt.” With his sleeve, he wiped his spittle from his mouth. “Well, hand it over. I’ve struggled with thoughts of my own death long enough.”

            “No, not that,” Oren drew from his vest again, bringing forth a rolled parchment, sealed. “The Gibbor sends another message. May I?”