“Kal,” Skar said as Kaladin slapped him on the back. “There’s something we didn’t mention by spanreed.” Kaladin frowned as Drehy returned to the fire and picked up one of the figures there. A child? In rags. Yes, a frightened little boy, maybe three or four years old, lips chapped, eyes haunted. Elhokar’s son. “We protect those,” Drehy said, “who cannot protect themselves.”
