In the time before song the clans grew restless and clashed steel against steel in the bitter north, until a crimson path was traced in the snow, leading to the mountains of dead and their cairns. Come autumn the clans called a truce so they might gather the bodies from pasture, range, and farm. So great was the number of dead that the clans saw autumn's return twice over before all the bodies had been gathered. So they called on Malacath and made an offering of echatere and of their own blood. And the Prince answered them: