The next morning drifted slowly over the Bend, soft and gray beneath a low curtain of mist rolling off the river. The camp stirred with quiet, uneasy motion. Goblins moved in clusters, always two groups that never fully blended. Ironfang gathered in familiar lines and work teams, while the captured Bonegnashers kept to tight knots of their own, glancing toward the wolves or toward Ironfang warriors patrolling the perimeter.

  The tension sat just under the skin of the camp. Bonegnashers muttered to each other in low voices when Ironfang passed too close. An Ironfang warrior and a former Bonegnasher brushed shoulders near a water barrel and halted, eyes hard, hands flexing near weapon hilts, until a nearby wolf lifted its head and growled once. Both stepped back without a word. Mothers pulled their children closer when they wandered too near the other group. No one had forgotten the battle, or who had been on which side.

  No fights had broken out yet, but the air felt steeped in the promise of them. The silence held because Dravak expected it, and because everyone had seen what the wolves could do if pushed too far.

  Sable padded through the camp beside Grub, the wolf’s calm presence parting the Bonegnashers and drawing respectful nods from Ironfang. She snorted now and then, brushing against Grub’s leg with a quiet rumble, grounding him. Grub noticed the Bonegnashers avoiding his eyes, the way they refused to hold his gaze. He understood why. They still remembered what his magic had done to them in the battle. The feeling of stone tearing through flesh was probably still fresh in their minds.

  Across the clearing, Builders were staking out the ground. Some hammered markers into the earth. Others traced outlines of possible structures with sticks and charcoal. Bonegnashers watched them from a distance, whispering among themselves, unsure of what to make of goblins treating construction as disciplined work.

  Nearby, Rika and the Fangs of Winter lounged near the treeline, relaxing while their wolves sprawled on the cool earth, eyes scanning the camp. Ashpaw yawned wide enough to flash his fangs before settling his head onto his massive paws. Their calmness soothed the tension in the air. Even the Bonegnashers seemed to be growing used to the wolves’ steady presence.

  The atmosphere was stretched tight like a rope, not snapping yet, but strained.

  The morning bled into afternoon with the sounds of hammering, chopping, and goblins moving around the Bend with purpose. The Builders were hard at work constructing more permanent buildings and shoring up the camp’s defenses, and the Bonegnashers remained mostly to the side, watching, unsure of where they fit in this new tribe of theirs.

  As the late afternoon sun began to dip toward the treetops along the horizon, something changed.

  A runner jogged up to Grub. He bowed his head once, then spoke. “Grub. The Chief calls for council. He is calling everyone to the central fire.”

  Grub nodded. It was about time for them to decide on their next steps. He had already been thinking, planning, trying to find the best way to organize things, and most importantly, how to break the news that he needed to go off on his own.

  Sable rose and followed as he headed toward the large fire pit that served as the camp’s center. The Ironfang were already moving that way on instinct. A public council drew interest, especially now. The Bonegnashers did not know what was happening, but they sensed the excitement in the air from the Ironfang, so they drifted toward the camp center along with the others.

  By the time Grub reached the clearing, the space was filling quickly. Ironfang and Bonegnashers kept a careful distance but stood in the same broad ring around the fire. Warriors leaned on spears. Mothers sat with children in their laps. Older Bonegnashers hobbled closer, their wounds still freshly bound, yet their curiosity overcoming their fear.

  Dravak stood beside the fire, hands clasped behind his back, expression carved from stone. Kesh arrived with her slate. Throk and Hask took seats on a log to Dravak’s right. Rika settled beside the wolves, who arranged themselves in quiet formation behind her.

  Then Vexa approached.

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  She walked stiffly, her healing leg steady beneath her, her posture firm. Ironfang eyes followed her. They were not hostile, but watchful. Bonegnashers stared with confusion, awe, even bitterness. But she walked through the center of both groups unchallenged.

  She reached the circle’s edge and stood waiting. Dravak nodded toward the open place beside Kesh. “Sit with us, Vexa. You will watch and listen. You will not speak strategy today, but you will get a taste of what a real tribe looks like.”

  Vexa inclined her head and sat, spine straight, hands resting lightly on her knees. She did not flinch at the weight of the attention on her.

  Grub settled opposite her, cross-legged, Sable lying down at his side with a soft thump of fur. He laid his staff across his legs and waited.

  The murmurs around the fire faded to silence when Dravak stepped forward. He raised his voice so the entire camp could hear.

  “All Ironfang and Bonegnashers,” he said, “listen well.” The clearing fell silent.

  Dravak swept his gaze around the ring. His voice did not rise, but it carried weight. “I see two groups standing apart.”

  Both clusters stiffened.

  “I understand why. Two days ago, you were enemies. Some of you lost kin. Some of you took lives. That is war. Goblins die. Tribes fall. That is the way of it.”

  He pointed briefly toward the southern forest.

  “You fought us. We fought you. you lost. If we wished to do so, you could be chained, beaten, worked until your bones cracked.” His voice stayed calm, matter-of-fact. “But that is not what happened.”

  He thumped his fist lightly against his chest.

  “You are Ironfang now. All of you. And in my tribe, there is no room for petty squabbling or staring from across the fire like frightened squirrels.”

  A few goblins shifted, embarrassed. Dravak nodded once.

  “There will be no lingering hatred here. No lines drawn in the dirt. Not between goblins who share the same fire.” He lifted his chin. “Move. Mix. Stand among each other.”

  There was a long, tense pause. "Now!" He barked. Ironfang and Bonegnashers began to shift, shuffling, hesitating, but slowly mingling until the two rings around the fire dissolved into one.

  Only then did Dravak continue.

  “Some of you do not know our ways yet. Some of you have never watched a tribe plan its path. That ends today. What happens here is how the Ironfang chooses its way forward. How we plan our future.”

  His gaze swept over Bonegnashers who lingered at the edge, uncertain if they were allowed to remain.

  “You are all Ironfang now. The Bonegnashers do not exist any longer, and that means you may stay and hear every word. You are part of us now. But there will be no interruptions, no shouting, and no challenges. This council decides the next steps for all of us.” A ripple of quiet rolled through the crowd. Dravak planted the butt of his axe into the dirt beside him.

  “We meet to decide how to build, how to grow, and how to survive the seasons ahead. We will speak of the future of this tribe.” He looked to Kesh, then to the others seated in the inner circle. “Now begin.”

  Kesh rose from her place beside the central fire, slate in hand. The stone tablet she held was smudged with charcoal and dirt, but her notes were clear and sharply etched. She waited until Dravak gave her a single nod.

  “First, Kesh,” he said. “Tell us our numbers. Where do we stand after our victory here?” She nodded once, then stepped forward.

  Her voice was steady and crisp, carrying easily across the gathered goblins.

  “Two days since the battle,” she began. “Here is the count of our strength.” The entire clearing seemed to lean in. Kesh glanced briefly at her slate, then recited from memory.

  “We now have a total of two hundred thirty goblins, and eleven wolves.” A ripple of murmurs moved through the Bonegnashers. Even a few Ironfang shifted with pride.

  Kesh continued.

  “Leadership: seven. Dravak, Grub, myself, Throk, Rika, Hask, and Vexa.” Vexa kept her posture rigid, face unreadable, but a single muscle in her jaw tightened. Her own people stared at her with new uncertainty. Kesh went on, seemingly not noticing the tension.

  “Bodyguards: two hobgoblins.” The pair stood behind Dravak like carved statues, unmoving.

  “Warriors: one hundred twenty-seven. This includes fifty-six trained Ironfang warriors and seventy-one new Bonegnasher warriors.”

  She paused just long enough to let the scale of it settle over the crowd.

  “Builders: fifteen. Medics: ten. Fangs of Winter: nine riders, eleven wolves. Pregnant females: fifteen. Mothers caring for young: sixteen. And twenty-nine children. So far. We can expect that number to rise to near fifty when all have given birth.”

  A hush fell across the gathered goblins. Nearly fifty children meant the Ironfang tribe was not just surviving. It was growing. And fast.

  Kesh tapped the slate lightly with a finger. “That is our strength, Chief.”

  She stepped back into place with quiet certainty.

  Dravak nodded once, satisfied. The tribe murmured again, astonishment, pride, and unease woven together.

  Even Vexa could not completely hide her reaction this time. Her eyes widened a fraction, her posture straightening. The scale and organization of the Ironfang was far beyond what she had experienced under Skarn.

  Although she remained silent, her expression said enough. This tribe is not just strong. It is organized.

  Her gaze swept across the gathered members of her old tribe, and she saw the signs of comprehension in their faces. They were beginning to see the possibilities.

  Dravak let the murmurs run for a moment, then raised his hand. The clearing went quiet.

  “Good,” he said. “We grow stronger far quicker than I ever expected.” He looked to the rest of the council.

  “Now we decide how to use that strength.”