The forest held its breath.

  Evening light bled through the pines, washing the air in a pale gold glow. The warmth of early spring still lingered beneath the branches, and somewhere far off a bird called, short and low.

  Grub sat across from Vexa, the Bound Hand planted in the earth between them. Rika and Hask stood just behind him, while the two scouts waited at the edge of the clearing, eyes fixed on the trees. Vexa’s hunters formed a wary half-circle around her, weapons lowered but still close at hand. The sun was already dipping toward the ridgeline, its light slanting low through the trees. Long shadows crept across the clearing, and the first hint of evening chill drifted through the branches.

  Vexa spoke first, her tone cool and steady. “You came all this way to talk. So talk.”

  Grub inclined his head slightly. “My name is Grub of the Ironfang. With me are Rika, commander of our wolf riders, and Hask, once the chief of the Duskroot tribe.”

  The second name caused a stir among her hunters. One muttered under his breath, but Vexa silenced him with a glance. Her eyes narrowed. “The Duskroot disappeared a while ago. None of us could find out what happened. We thought them all dead.”

  "Hask, why don't you tell them about the fate of the Duskroot?" Grub grinned slightly. Hask nodded and stepped forward, his voice even and sure. "Not dead. Defeated. I fought him,” he said, nodding toward Grub. “And I lost in a fair duel. Rather than kill me, he offered me surrender, to spare my life. I took the chance. We were imprisoned, but given warmth, food, and comfort. Our sick and wounded were treated. No one forced us to work. We did not know what to make of it. We expected beatings and cruelty, but received the opposite. In time, we asked to work, rather than rot on our furs. Then, the Ironfang chief gave us a choice: leave free with a week’s food and make our way in the forest on our own, or stay and become Ironfang. We stayed. Now I lead my people still, under a new name and new chief, and my voice is heard. They respected my previous position. It's more than I could have ever expected. Though I think it was likely the plan from the start, knowing what I know now of how the Ironfang operate.”

  Vexa listened intently to Hask as he told the story, and when he was done, she studied him closely for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she nodded slowly, and looked back to Grub. “You say you know of me. How?”

  “Scouts,” Grub said. “We’ve been watching your camp for weeks.” Her brow furrowed. “We never saw you.” “That's the whole point,” Grub replied calmly. A flicker of irritation crossed her face. “You’ve been close to my camp without my knowing. That doesn’t sit well.”

  Grub met her gaze evenly. “That was how we learned that you were the one worth talking to.”

  Vexa held his eyes for several long seconds, then gave a short, clipped nod. "You're not wrong. Skarn is a fool." Behind her, two of her hunters shifted uneasily, muttering about the cold as the light dimmed. She motioned to them with a small gesture, and they quickly began gathering dry moss and twigs. Sparks jumped from flint, catching on the bundle, and within moments a small fire flickered to life between the two groups. The orange light danced across the clearing, reflecting in the eyes of wolves and goblins alike.

  The wind sighed softly through the trees as Vexa returned her attention to Grub. “All right, Grub of the Ironfang. Why are you here?”

  “We are here to give you a chance to live through what’s coming,” Grub said. Her expression hardened, the air between them tightening. “You speak as if our defeat is certain.”

  Rika stepped forward slightly. “You’re a tribe divided, Vexa. You know what that means. We're unified. We have more warriors, better equipment, better training, and are more disciplined. The Bonegnashers will fall, that much is certain. What is not certain is that you must die for the pride of a brute like Skarn.”

  Grub nodded. “The Red Tusk tribe thought fear made strength. Their chief ruled by cruelty, kept his people afraid so none could stand against him. When we came for them, they broke before they even knew what happened.”

  Vexa’s jaw tensed. “We heard of that. The Red Tusk vanished recently. Gone without a trace. You mean to tell me that was you as well, then? Are they still alive?”

  “Yes. They are Ironfang now,” Grub said. “Not Red Tusk any longer.”

  That answer gave her pause. “You take tribes whole,” she said quietly.

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  “We keep those who can fight and think,” Grub replied. “We don’t need slaves. We are building strength, not chains.” Her gaze lingered on him, sharp and assessing. “And you think I should betray Skarn to join you?”

  “I think you should survive,” Grub said. “What you do after is your choice.” She gave a short, humorless laugh. “You think I don’t know what Skarn is?”

  “I think you know it better than anyone,” Grub said. “He’s the same kind of fool we’ve seen before. Loud, cruel, and proud enough to think fear makes loyalty. Does that ring a bell?" When she nodded, he continued. "Tell me, how does he fight?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because how a leader fights tells you a lot about him,” Grub said.

  Vexa hesitated, then answered, her voice tight with long-held frustration. “He leads by force, by showing his teeth and being loud. Every problem is a fight to him, every insult a call to blood. He takes no counsel, and won’t listen to reason. If something can’t be crushed, he ignores it until it festers. His answer to weakness is punishment. His answer to fear is rage. And the tribe cheers for it because it’s simple.” She shook her head slightly. “He wins by being louder, stronger, and meaner than the rest, and they think that’s strength.”

  Her hand flexed unconsciously at her side, voice lowering. “It’s worked so far, but it’s burning us from the inside. He wastes hunters on stupid raids. Sends boys to die proving his temper. He doesn’t plan or think ahead. When the Ironfang come, he’ll do what he always does: charge, scream, and hope his size will scare fate itself.”

  The bitterness in her tone silenced the clearing. Even the fire seemed to crackle more softly.

  Hask grunted. “That sounds a lot like the Red Tusk chieftain.” Rika nodded in agreement. "That isn't strength, that's rot, killing you from the inside. You know it as well as we do, Vexa."

  Grub leaned forward slightly. “Then you understand why we came. Your tribe is weak, and ripe for the taking. But there’s more than that to our presence here, our plans. We were paid to crush you.”

  The hunters around Vexa stiffened instantly, their hands twitching toward their weapons. Vexa’s eyes flared with anger. “Paid? By who?” “Humans,” Grub said simply.

  Her voice rose, sharp and incredulous. “Humans? We’ve been chasing them out of our hunting grounds for weeks!”

  Grub nodded. “We know. They don't like the trouble you're causing them. That's why they paid us to kill you all." Vexas gaze, full of anger, fell upon him again.

  Grub held out his hands, in a placating manner, and continued. "We don’t trust them. But understand this: whether they paid us or not, we would have come, eventually. The Ironfang would have started moving this way sooner rather than later. They think they’re clever, think they're using us for their own ends, but all they’ve really done is pay us to do something we would have done anyway.”

  Vexa’s expression shifted from anger to wary curiosity. “So, you serve them now?”

  Grub shook his head firmly. “No. We are simply taking advantage of the opportunity for now. They want goblins dead, but we don't. Right now, we can’t fight them head-on. We need strength first, more numbers. The more goblins survive this upcoming battle, the stronger the Ironfang become. The stronger we are, the more we can resist them. That’s why I’m here, to make this fight smaller than it has to be.”

  He leaned back slightly, his tone steady but cold. “The humans are moving pieces we don’t fully understand yet. But I don’t plan to sit idle until they tighten the noose around our necks.”

  Vexa frowned. “And what do you know of them?”

  “That they’re organized,” Grub said. “Rich. And patient. They don’t come into these woods without a reason.” He looked at her directly. “What do you know?”

  Her anger faded into something quieter. “Only that they can’t be trusted. Humans lie, cheat, and steal what they want. Every tribe knows that. When they crossed into our territory, we didn’t wait for talk. We hunted them. Drove them out. That’s all I need to know.”

  Grub gave a faint nod. “Then on that, at least, we agree.”

  Silence settled again for a moment, filled only by the crackle of the fire and the whisper of wind through pine needles.

  Grub finally rose to his feet, signaling an end to the talks. "I've said what I came to say. What you do now is up to you. When the time comes, make one move that matters. Hit him clean. Open a line, and we’ll take care of the rest. That's all we ask.”

  Vexa’s voice was quieter now, but still edged. “And if I don’t?”

  Grub didn’t hesitate. “Then you will feed the forest for a fools pride.” He let the words hang in the air, his tone steady. “Make no mistake, Vexa. We’ll still try to take as many alive as we can. Corpses can’t hunt. They can’t work. They can’t build. If you choose to die on your feet, that’s your right. If you choose to live, there’ll be a place for you after.”

  Vexa’s gaze held his for a long time, her expression difficult to read.

  Grub turned and called softly to Sable. The wolf rose and shook out her fur. Rika mounted Ashpaw, and Hask took his place beside her. Grub swung into his saddle.

  As they made their way out of the clearing, and back into the dark forest, he paused just long enough to call over his shoulder, “Within the week, we’ll come to claim the Bonegnashers.” The wolves padded away, their movement almost soundless in the darkness.

  Vexa stood, and watched the small fire for a while, silent. Her hunters shifted uneasily behind her, glancing between their chief and the retreating shapes.

  Finally, she turned toward them, her voice low but firm. “Tell no one what happened here tonight. Double the watches. If Skarn asks why, tell him the Ironfang walk the southern woods. Let him wonder.”

  She glanced once more at the Bound Hand standing in the soil, the dark palm print stark against the pale stone. “We’ll see if these Ironfangs are who they claim to be, or just another fire waiting to burn out.”

  Then she turned and strode back toward the trees. Her hunters followed close behind, vanishing into the forest’s growing dusk.