Sable’s growl never stopped, but it changed slightly. It wasn’t the mindless rumble of an animal cornered. It was a warning shaped by pain and a little bit of fear, the kind that promised teeth if the line was crossed. She kept her injured leg lifted just off the ground, shoulders low, ribs rising and falling too fast beneath Grub’s hastily applied bandages.

  Grub stayed standing between her and the figures at the clearing’s edge, palm raised, staff held low in his other hand. Orion stood close enough that Grub could feel him at his shoulder, steady and quiet, his bound forearm still damp at the edges.

  The four feline scouts held a loose arc, two marked with striped coats like jungle tigers and two patterned in rosettes and spots, their fur catching light in broken, shifting fragments whenever they breathed or shifted their weight.

  The strangers spoke again, quick and clipped, a language that slid past Grub’s ears without catching. Their ears twitched as they listened to each other, tails making small, controlled movements. The broader one, the wolf-like figure with the curved blade, did not speak yet. He simply watched Sable like she was the only piece on the board that mattered.

  Grub swallowed, then used Identify on each of them in turn. The first ones he identified were the felines.

  [Beastkin Scout – Level 16]

  Health: 110/110 | Stamina: 50/50 | Mana: 110/110

  [Beastkin Scout – Level 14]

  Health: 90/90 | Stamina: 50/50 | Mana: 90/90

  [Beastkin Scout – Level 14]

  Health: 90/90 | Stamina: 50/50 | Mana: 90/90

  [Beastkin Scout – Level 15]

  Health: 100/100 | Stamina: 50/50 | Mana: 100/100

  Finally he turned to the wolf-like figure.

  [Beastkin Hunter – Level 19]

  Health: 150/150 | Stamina: 180/180 | Mana: 50/50

  He forced himself to stay calm. If these Beastkin wanted to, they could kill the three of them without much effort. He kept his hand up, and made himself move slowly. He pointed first at his mouth, then at them, then spread his hands as if laying something flat between them. He tapped two fingers to the side of his head and traced a small circle in the air. He made it obvious, on purpose.

  They could not understand one another. He would cast magic to fix that. He hoped they understood his meaning.

  Their posture tightened immediately at his movements. Not panic, but heightened awareness. Their fingers adjusted on the grips of their weapons, the steel angled just a fraction higher. The Beastkin Hunter’s stance widened, his weight settling into the dirt.

  Grub kept his staff down. Kept his open hand open.

  “I’m going to cast Tongues,” he said, mostly for Orion and Sable. “Not an attack. No sudden movements.”

  Sable’s growl had sharpened at the shift in attention. Her ears pinned back for a heartbeat.

  Grub took a breath and cast the spell with slow deliberate movements. The Beastkin watched him carefully, their unblinking stares only slightly unnerving.

  The spell slid into place like a thin film over his senses. The atmosphere shifted.

  He did not waste the moment.

  “Stand down,” Grub said immediately, firm but not loud. “Please. Just a little. She’s hurt, and she’s warning you.”

  The striped feline closest to the center studied Grub in silence, head slightly angled as amber eyes traced the set of his shoulders, the firmness of his stance, and the deliberate way he placed himself between the others and the wounded dire wolf. Among the scouts, this one was built a touch differently. Still lean and powerful, but with subtler lines beneath layered leather and cloth, the armor shaping around a narrower waist and broader hips that marked a female frame. Orange-yellow fur banded with deep black striping lay smooth against muscle built for speed rather than brute force.

  When Grub finished speaking, her attention shifted. Her gaze cut to Sable, pupils narrowing as her ears rotated to track something Grub could not hear. The intensity in her expression softened slightly then, not into pity, but into recognition. This was a hunter still standing, wounded but unbroken, choosing restraint over retreat.

  She glanced to the side, and the wolfkin made a low sound in his throat, not a growl, more like a restrained huff. He lowered his curved blade a few inches, tip dipping from kill-ready to watch-ready. One feline followed, then another, easing their blades down without putting them away.

  Grub exhaled, careful not to let it show as relief. “Sable,” he said, softer now. “Enough.”

  Sable’s growl cut off on a tight exhale. She held the others’ scent for one more heartbeat, then settled back onto her haunches with a controlled, careful motion, keeping her wounded leg lifted and her shoulders forward, alert even in stillness. A small whine slipped out when she shifted her weight wrong, and Grub’s chest tightened. “Good,” Grub murmured. “Just stay.”

  The striped female spoke. Her voice had a smoother cadence than the others, vowels drawn a touch longer, consonants rolling slightly as if her mouth was built for purr and threat alike. “You cast magic,” she said. “Goblins rarely cast. How strange.” She stared at Grub, not breaking eye contact. To him it was unnerving, but she seemed completely unbothered.

  Grub stared right back into her eyes. “I do.”

  The striped male cut in, his voice sharper and more direct, each word clipped clean. “Why are you here?” Grub answered short. “We are traveling north.” The striped male’s ears angled forward. “Alone?” Grub shook his head and indicated Sable and Orion. "Together."

  The spotted female, softer and more musical, added, “Where is your pack, little goblin? Your tribe?” The spotted male, blunt as stone, said, “Goblins do not walk deep into the forest by themselves. They are weak. Without numbers, they die easy.”

  Grub’s grip tightened on his staff for a moment, then loosened. “My tribe isn’t with me,” he said. “I left them behind to come here.”

  The striped male’s gaze swept the clearing, landing briefly on the shattered corpse of the Lurker and the scattered bark plates. His expression did not change, but his tail flicked once. “For what purpose?” the spotted female asked. “Why come north without your tribe?”

  Grub lifted his chin slightly. “To learn what’s here. To fight what’s here. To get stronger.” The spotted male made a small sound, not quite laughter, not quite dismissal.

  The striped female’s eyes narrowed. “Stronger. For what?” Grub did not hesitate. “For my tribe. To protect them when the next big threat comes.” That earned him a longer look, not warmer, but more focused, as if they were recalculating what category he belonged in.

  The wolfkin finally broke his silence.

  His voice was deeper than the others’, steadier, carrying easily without effort, as if it was meant to travel through trees and open ground alike. “And the dire wolf?” he asked.

  His eyes never left Sable. “A dire wolf does not walk alone either,” he continued. “Where is her pack?”

  Sable’s ears twitched at the word pack. Her lips lifted a fraction, just enough to show teeth, but she did not rise. The warning was there, contained. Grub answered before it could grow into anything more.

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  “Her pack is in the south,” he said evenly. “With my tribe.” The wolfkin’s nostrils flared as he drew in scent, attention sharpening rather than easing. “Then why is she here with you?” The striped male spoke before Grub could answer, voice smooth but cutting. “A dire wolf leaves her pack for a goblin?”

  Grub’s jaw tightened, but his tone stayed controlled. “She left the tribe,” he said. “Just as I did. Her pack is part of my tribe. When I left, so did she.” The wolfkin’s gaze narrowed. “Why?”

  Grub glanced back just long enough to check on Sable. He placed his free hand gently on the side of her face, and she nuzzled against it. Then he turned and faced them again.

  “Sable is my companion,” he said. “We are bonded.”

  The spotted female, quieter in presence than the striped female, repeated the word under her breath, testing its shape. “Bonded. How very… strange.”

  Grub did not stop there. He could feel the weight in their attention, the way they were listening for more. “We are family,” he added.

  That word landed differently.

  One scout’s ears flicked back, then forward again, uncertain. Another shifted her grip on her blade, not threatening, but thoughtful. The wolfkin stayed still, gaze moving from Sable’s bandaged ribs to the way she positioned herself relative to Grub, protective without posturing, present without challenge. His gaze lingered on where Grub’s hand rested on the side of Sable’s head.

  Sable let out a small, pained whine. It was brief, involuntary.

  The wolfkin’s breathing changed subtly at the sound, a quiet huff passing through his muzzle before he spoke again. “You are saying a pack of dire wolves lives with your tribe,” he said. “That they share ground and hunt together. I would not believe you and this wolf were not here before us.” Grub nodded. “They do.”

  Before the wolfkin could respond, Orion spoke for the first time since the exchange began. His voice was calm and careful. “I’ve seen it myself,” he said. “They ride them during hunts and battles alike. Neither side dominates the other, they coexist and cooperate. It's fascinating.”

  That drew a visible reaction. One of the feline scouts straightened slightly, ears angling toward Orion despite herself. Another turned her head, eyes narrowing as she re-evaluated Sable with new context. The wolfkin looked at Orion at last, then back to Grub, then to Sable again, as if layering the information carefully rather than rejecting it outright.

  Silence stretched.

  Finally, the wolfkin gave a single, restrained nod. “Choice matters,” he said.

  One of the feline scouts clicked her tongue softly, a brief sound that might have been agreement or might have been nothing more than recognition. Another lowered her blades a fraction, though they remained ready.

  The moment passed.

  The wolfkin turned away from Grub and Sable, attention shifting to the shattered remains of bark and thorn scattered across the clearing. His posture changed, the predatory assessment giving way to something harder, more focused.

  “Enough,” he said, not unkindly, but with finality. “That explains what you are.” His gaze returned to Grub, sharper now. “But it does not explain who you travel with.” His gaze shifted over to Orion, who shifted nervously under the attention. The feline scouts followed his line of sight, eyes moving first to Orion, standing beside Grub, then angling toward the forest beyond as if expecting an army to emerge at any second.

  The mood changed subtly, though the shift was unmistakable. The Beastkin’s expressions had hardened into something more aggressive, more angry. “The human,” one said. Orion did not speak immediately. He stood straight, staff held steady, his bound arm close to his side.

  The spotted female’s voice lost some of its music as she regarded Orion. “Humans do not come here alone. Where there is one, there are many. And where there are many humans, danger and destruction follow close behind. Humans come with fire.”

  Orion’s eyes narrowed behind the skull mask. “I came alone, with one staff,” he said evenly. “Not an army.” The striped male flicked his gaze over Orion’s wounds, then back to his face. “Still here. Still unwelcome in the forest.”

  Orion drew a breath, then chose his next words carefully. “I am not a fighter. I am a scholar, a researcher. I'm only here with the goblin because he is unusual for his kind,” he said. “Not just because he casts magic. You have already seen that. Because he thinks beyond immediate survival. He listens. He plans.”

  No one interrupted him.

  “I am not teaching him to fight,” Orion continued. “I am teaching him the human tongue. And the spell that allows us to speak now. Nothing else.”

  One of the striped scouts shifted slightly, attention flicking from Orion back to Grub. The wolfkin spoke next, voice steady. “Then you brought yourself into claimed land.” “Yes,” Orion said. “Because I travel with him.” The wolfkin’s gaze hardened. “Humans do not belong here, regardless of the reason.” Grub answered before Orion could. “He is here because I am,” he said. “If his presence causes trouble, it is my responsibility.”

  The silence that followed was heavy. The wolfkin studied Grub for a moment longer, then looked back to Orion. “You speak little for a human.”

  Orion inclined his head slightly. “I prefer to listen.”

  The striped male’s eyes slid, once, toward the broken corpse behind them, and his voice came out flat, almost impatient with the obvious. “You three are not welcome here,” he said. He continued, sounding almost reluctant to speak the words, “but, you killed one of the Lurkers in our lands. For that, we thank you. For that, you walk away instead of being cut down where you stand.”

  The striped female did not contradict him. Her gaze stayed on Grub, steady and weighing. The quiet pause that followed lingered, nearly becoming uncomfortable. The Beastkin did not soften, but something in their posture had eased from judgment to assessment.

  The scouts eyes flicked toward the ruined body behind them, then back to Grub. Her expression was controlled, but there was tension beneath it, like a held breath. “It attacked you,” she said. Grub nodded once. “It ambushed us. We defended ourselves. That’s the law of the forest.”

  The striped male bristled immediately. Fur lifted along his arms and shoulders, and a sharp hiss slipped from his teeth before he spoke. “Do not speak to us of forest law, runt,” he snapped, the word spitting out with open contempt.

  Grub stiffened, just a fraction. His grip tightened on his staff and his stance became more ready. He met the Beastkin’s glare without flinching, jaw set. “I wasn’t lecturing,” he said evenly. “I was only explaining why it’s dead.”

  Before the tension could climb further, the female turned her head sharply toward the striped male. Her ears flattened, and she glared at him in rebuke. “Enough,” she said, her voice low but firm. “He spoke plainly. You heard insult because you wanted one.”

  The male’s mouth tightened, but he did not argue. His ears twitched back once, then forward again as he forced himself still.

  The wolfkin watched the exchange without intervening, eyes moving between Grub, Sable, and the remains in the clearing. When he spoke, his voice was low and steady.

  “These things have killed our hunters,” he said. “Scouts too. They are dangerous creatures, that do not behave like a predator should.” Grub’s gaze dropped to the corpse again, then lifted. “What are they?”

  Silence followed.

  The striped male did not answer. Neither did the wolfkin. They just looked at him, as if deciding whether his question deserved an answer. It was the female who finally spoke after the silence had stretched for a while, her tone measured and careful.

  “They are not creatures of the forest,” she said. “They move through it, but they do not belong.”

  “They kill without reason tied to land or hunger,” the wolfkin added. “They do not respect territory or balance. They exist outside of the natural order.”

  The striped female inclined her head slightly. “They only began appearing recently,” she said.

  Grub nodded, thankful for the information. He glanced once more at the dead thing behind them, then looked back at her. “Where did they come from?”

  For a moment, it seemed like the question might be ignored. The striped male met Grub’s gaze briefly, then looked away again, ears twitching in irritation.

  “We do not know,” the striped female said at last. “Only that they are wrong.”

  Nothing more followed. Orion shifted subtly at Grub’s side, breath catching as if he wanted to ask more, but he restrained himself.

  The wolfkin’s gaze returned to Sable, tracing the bandaged leg and the way she held herself. He grunted once.

  The spotted female tilted her head slightly. “You killed a Lurker,” she added, something reluctant threaded through the words. “That makes you dangerous.” the wolfkin spoke up again, "and your wolf paid for it.”

  Sable’s lips twitched. A low growl rumbled up from her chest before breaking into a small, pained whine as she shifted her weight. Grub felt heat rise, protective and sharp, but he kept his expression steady. The Beastkin did not look away.

  Grub accepted it with a nod and said nothing further, letting the silence stretch as the weight of it settled over the forest.

  He cleared his throat. “What happens now?” Grub asked.

  The striped male’s answer came immediately. “You keep walking,” he said. “You keep breathing. And you keep being watched.”

  The striped female’s ears turned toward the treeline, then back. “You are still here because you killed the Lurker,” she said. “Because you have not disturbed this land beyond what it forced upon you.”

  The spotted female’s voice was quieter, almost polite in comparison to the others, but not quite kind. “You may stay, if you wish,” she said. “But do not expect us to intervene when danger finds you. Do not expect help. Fenrath’s land does not forgive the weak.”

  Then, as if that still left room for misunderstanding, the spotted female added, “If you die, you die. If you hunt what is not yours, you will not die quickly.”

  Orion spoke up before Grub could open his mouth, "who is Fenrath?" The Beastkin glared at him but remained silent.

  Grub nodded once, quickly dispelling the tension. “I can live with that,” he said to the spotted female scout. The striped male huffed, and his expression suggested he did not care what Grub could live with.

  The wolfkins gaze lingered, his eyes on Sable. His nostrils flared again as he drew in air, reading the scent of blood, herbs, bandage cloth, and the strange sight of a dire wolf sitting behind a goblin like it was the natural order.

  The striped female’s gaze held Grub’s a heartbeat longer, ears turning as if listening to something Grub could not sense. “Alone, each of you is strange,” she said, voice smooth but edged. “Together, you are unprecedented. We will watch you closely, strange little goblin. Do not disappoint.”

  The wolfkin chuckled softly. Then he made a small motion with his head, subtle, a signal. The group began to shift back, not retreating so much as dissolving into motion. Before they disappeared, he spoke up one last time. “Thank you,” he said, because it cost him nothing and because he meant it. “For not making this worse.”

  The striped female turned and watched him for a beat, ears flicking. Then she gave the smallest nod, as if acknowledging that him, and turned away without a word.

  They left with almost no sound.

  The feline scouts moved first, not walking so much as flowing backward, and then they were climbing, hands finding bark holds that should not have been there, bodies folding and extending with impossible ease. One simply sprang straight up to a low branch without a running start, landing silent and balanced, tail curling to counterweight before jumping again. Another followed with a single tight leap that cleared the gap like gravity was optional for them. Within seconds they were high in the branches, slipping through leaves and shadow until the patterns of their fur broke apart into the canopy’s mottled light, and they disappeared completely.

  The wolfkin walked, vanishing last into the trees, his curved blade catching a final dull glint of light before it disappeared.

  Grub stood still until he was sure they were gone.

  Then he let out the breath he had been holding, turned slightly, and reached back to rest his hand against Sable’s fur.

  “We’re okay,” he murmured. “For now.”

  Sable pressed into his touch, warm and solid despite the tremor in her leg, and the forest around them stayed quiet.