Rot. Old rot, freshly exposed.

  Swift-River froze on the branch, shadowmink nose twitching. Below, Roar'Z led his poisoned warriors through the perilous pass. But her attention had snagged on something else. To the east, churned soil gaped where Orc dead had rested for generations.

  Ruby's work.

  Heat flickered beneath her fur. The transformation wanting to answer her anger. She forced it down. Not here. Not now.

  Below, Roar'Z's massive frame never slowed even as others faltered around him. He stopped at a rocky outcrop and turned to face a young warrior.

  "KarGrum." His voice cut through the mountain air. "Your burden doubles today. A weapon that may heal the horde. A chance to fight back. KyKlaw will arm you with details."

  Swift-River crept closer along the branch. Her claws found purchase in bark as she positioned herself above the gathering.

  KyKlaw stepped forward, her pregnant belly visible beneath her furs. She pressed a small bottle into KarGrum's hand.

  "Sap from the root of the Ironwood tree." Her voice carried the calm of someone who had tested her theories and found them sound. "I've tried it on the Orcs of the throng. Their nightmares have eased. Not cured, but eased."

  Swift-River's ears pricked forward.

  Ironwood sap. A remedy she hadn't known existed. In all her years of Druidic training, no one had mentioned this particular application. Either the knowledge had been lost, or the Orcs had discovered something the Druids never had.

  They're fighting back with more than weapons.

  "Instruct the healers to apply it to closed eyes before performing a healing spell," KyKlaw continued. "Spread the word. Let every throng know of its power."

  KarGrum clutched the bottle like it held his clan's future. Perhaps it did.

  "Have the throng leaders assign tasks to the older children," Roar'Z added. "Ensure it doesn't disrupt guard schedules." He nodded toward the forest. "Take him to the eastern grove. Show KarGrum the correct method for harvesting the roots."

  KyKlaw touched KarGrum's shoulder, guiding him away. "Come. The journey isn't far, but time is precious. I'll show you which trees hold the strongest medicine."

  Swift-River watched them go. The pregnant healer moving with careful grace. The young warrior following with desperate hope written across his tusked face.

  They're not what I expected.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  The thought surfaced before she could stop it. Heat prickled along her spine. Her scales wanted to emerge, to shimmer copper in the dappled light. She held her shadowmink form through sheer will.

  These weren't the savage raiders her Druidic training had described. These were people fighting for survival against an enemy who raised their dead and poisoned their dreams. People who shared medicine freely. People who protected their pregnant and their young.

  People I helped imprison.

  The memory surfaced unbidden. Five years ago. A coordinated Druid operation. She'd woven thorn barriers that funneled Orc refugees toward waiting Thorn Watch squads. Efficient. Bloodless, mostly. She'd told herself it was mercy compared to what others would have done.

  Now she watched KyKlaw disappear into the treeline with her rounded belly and her medicine bottles, and the old justifications tasted like ash.

  A branch cracked below.

  Swift-River froze.

  An Orc scout had stopped directly beneath her perch. His nostrils flared. Head tilting. Scenting the air with the focused attention of a predator who sensed something wrong but couldn't identify it.

  Don't move. Don't breathe.

  The shadowmink form should hide her from Druidic trinkets and basic detection. But Orcs didn't rely on magic to hunt. They relied on instinct honed through generations of survival.

  The scout's hand moved to his axe.

  Swift-River's heart hammered. If he looked up. If he called the alarm. She'd have to flee or fight, and either choice would destroy any chance of gathering the intelligence she needed.

  Seconds stretched.

  The scout sniffed once more. Twice. Then his shoulders relaxed. He muttered something in Orcish about paranoid nerves and moved on, rejoining the main group as they continued through the pass.

  Swift-River released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

  Too close.

  She waited until the Orcs had moved beyond earshot. Then she descended the tree on silent paws and found a hollow beneath exposed roots. Safe. Hidden. A moment to think.

  She had information now. A remedy that eased Ruby's nightmare poison. A pattern of attacks targeting Orc burial grounds for fresh corpses. And somewhere in her mental map, the convergence points that would reveal Ruby's operational base.

  The question wasn't what to do with it.

  The question was who she was becoming by using it.

  Adamar expects a report. The Thornwatch expects intelligence on Orc movements. She could deliver exactly what they wanted. Detailed observations. Tactical assessments. The location of this ironwood grove that apparently held healing properties the Druids had never catalogued.

  They would use that information to control. To contain. To ensure the Orcs remained a "manageable threat" rather than a free people.

  Or she could do something else.

  Heat spread through her chest. Not the dragon's anger this time. Something quieter. Something that felt like decision crystallizing into purpose.

  I've spent five years following orders. Telling myself the Circle's wisdom exceeded my own. That balance required sacrifice, even when that sacrifice wore innocent faces.

  She thought of Miikka. His cryptic messages. His desperate gamble to undermine Ruby from within. He was risking everything on the hope that someone would understand. Someone would act.

  Perhaps redemption is not beyond my grasp.

  Swift-River emerged from her hollow. Her shadowmink form rippled, and for one moment, copper scales shimmered along her forearms before the sleeker shape reasserted itself.

  She wouldn't report the ironwood grove. Not to Adamar. Not to anyone who would use it against the people it was meant to heal.

  Instead, she would follow this thread deeper. Learn what Ruby planned. Find where his operations centered. And when the moment came to act, she would choose her own path.

  The hunt had begun. But the game was hers to finish.

  She bounded into the canopy, following KyKlaw's scent toward the eastern grove.

  Not as Adamar's spy.

  As something the Circle had never imagined: a Druid who chose her own side.

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