The guards moved in with mechanical precision, their hands like iron shackles as they hauled Emily and the hyperventilating Mara off the dirt. The "princess" of the Hippo Tribe was no longer screaming; she was sobbing in a low, broken cadence, her shattered arm dangling uselessly as she was dragged toward the dark, vine-covered entrance of Shaman Lazur's inner sanctum.
Ava watched them go, her mind already pivoting from the visceral violence of the moment to the cold logistics of what came next. She felt a presence beside her and glanced up to see George, his expression grim as he watched the New wooden doors of the Shamans home creak open to receive the prisoners.
"What exactly is 'Wildtongue Medicine'?" Ava asked, her voice steady despite the lingering metallic scent of blood in the air. "I heard the Shaman mention it earlier."
George turned to her, a flicker of respect in his eyes for her composure. "It's an old brew," he explained, his voice dropping to a low rumble. "A potent cocktail of mountain herbs and fermented roots. It puts a beastman into a deep, waking stupor, a trance where the walls of the mind simply crumble. Once it takes hold, they begin to relive their memories as if they're happening in real-time. To the person under its influence, the line between what is real and what is a hallucination vanishes entirely. It makes it nearly impossible to maintain a lie."
Ava felt a jolt of genuine surprise. A truth serum? In a world she had initially perceived as primitive, the existence of such sophisticated biochemicals for psychological interrogation was a revelation. It was remarkably akin to the nonexistent truth serums of her old world, though perhaps far more volatile given its hallucinogenic properties.
"So," Ava mused, looking toward the closed doors of the shamans home, "they won't just tell the truth; they'll live it. Everything Emily is hiding about her father's movements, the exact number of warriors, their scout routes... it will all come spilling out."
"Exactly," George nodded. "But it's a double-edged sword. Some never truly 'wake up' from the stupor. Their minds stay trapped in the loop of their own past."
Ava didn't feel a shred of pity. Emily had been ready to drown this village in blood for the sake of a salt mine; if she lost her mind in the process of saving the people she had tried to destroy, it was a poetic sort of justice.
The adrenaline that had sustained Ava through the confrontation began to ebb, replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion. The sun was starting to rise, as evidenced by the bright hues of the sky. Tomorrow would bring the fallout of this interrogation, and likely the first scouts of the Hippo Tribe. She couldn't afford to be tired.
"I'm going back," Ava said, offering a short nod to Amon and Chief Morris. "I need to rest if I'm going to help plan for what comes at dawn."
As she and her mates walked away, the sounds of the arguing elders at the square faded, replaced by the rhythmic chirping of evening insects. She didn't look back as she left. They had a war to win, and by tomorrow the news of war will be announced to the tribe which might cause chaos, as for now peaceful sleep was the only thing she needed to focus on now.
—--------------------------------------------------------------
The Sun had risen and it was late in the Morning, the roars of the tribal leader was heard, signalling all to rally to the tribe square, Sleepy Ava and her mates had already joined the others at the Square when Chief Morris stepped onto the elevated ritual stone, his shadow stretching long and jagged across the square. The silence that fell was not one of peace, but of bated breath.
"People of the Great Tree Tribe!" Morris's voice boomed, vibrating with a gravity that made the younger beastmen shift uneasily. "The peace we have clawed from this earth is under threat. Emily and Mara have not only betrayed our laws; they have invited a predator to our gates. The Hippo Tribe, led by Chief Darius, is marching. They come for war."
A ripple of confusion and fear ran through the crowd. "Why?" a scarred Male shouted from the back. "The Hippos are masters of the river lands. Why would they trek through the mountains to strike a small tribe like ours?"
Morris looked out at his people, his gaze lingering on the children clutching their mothers' furs. "Because of the secret we have kept within the Forbidden Forest," he declared, his voice dropping to a resonant tone. "There is a salt mine within those woods."
The crowd erupted in whispers. They had all noticed the changes, the merchants arriving more frequently, the sturdier animal hind skin clothes, the rare medicines that had saved lives during the last fever.
"You have seen the wealth entering our gates," Morris continued, silencing the murmurs with a raised hand. "With this salt, we have traded for enough dried grain like rice to last us through the harshest winter. But there is more. The Beast God appeared to Ava in a dream, showing her a sacred method to use this salt to preserve meat for seasons on end. We have tested it. It is true. We no longer need to fear the Great Snowy Famine."
All heads turned towards Ava as the revelation hit the square like a physical shock. In this land, winter was a synonym for death. Every year, the tribe grew smaller as the frost took the weak which were usually the elderly, the cubs and then females. Every year, brave males offered their own meager rations... or even themselves to ensure their mates and cubs could see the spring. To have meat in the winter was not just a luxury; it was a miracle. In their eyes Ava was truly sent by the beast God, they regretted ever doubting her.
Cheers began to rise, hearts swelling with a hope they hadn't dared to hold; until Morris's expression turned to ice, splashing metaphorical cold water over their joy.
"But that hope has been sold," Morris growled. "Mara and Emily used their wiles to seduce the guards stationed at the mine. They wormed the secret from them, and Emily sent word to her father, Chief Darius. He does not want to trade with us. He wants to seize the mine, take our lands, and put collars on our necks. He intends to turn the People of the Tree tribe into slaves for the Hippo Clan."
The transition from hope to incandescent rage was instantaneous. The air turned foul with curses directed at Emily and Mara. Emily had always been a haughty, sharp-tongued Female in the Tribe, but to trade their children's lives for her father's favor was a depravity they couldn't fathom. Had she been in the square at that moment, the guards would not have been able to stop the mob from tearing her limb from limb.
"The future of this tribe rests in your hands," Morris said, his voice hardening into a battle command. "The males must rally. We must sharpen every spear and prepare to bleed for our Land."
The initial roar of anger began to fade, replaced by a chilling realization of the odds.
"We aren't ready," one of the younger males whispered, his voice trembling as the adrenaline died down. The thought spread like a contagion.
Other males looked at their hands, some still scarred from the last Attack from the strays, others still healing from wounds. They were being asked to do the impossible: to hold the line against a legion of Hippo warriors, beastmen built like living siege engines. A deep, soul-crushing exhaustion settled over them. They were tired of the struggle, tired of the hunger, and now they were being asked to die.
But then, beastmen were not cowards. The exhaustion didn't vanish, but it shifted. It hardened into a grim, jagged resolve. If they were to be destroyed, if their new hope was to be snatched away, they would make the cost so high that Darius would find his victory tasted only of bitter herbs.
Under the Chief and Amon's instructions every able-bodied male in the tribe was swept into the vortex of preparation. The sound of wood hitting wood; a rhythmic, violent thud-thud-thud echoed through the valley as the younger warriors began felling the thickest pines at the forest's edge. They weren't just clearing a line of sight; they were creating a graveyard for the invading enemies.
Kael moved among them like a silent specter of war, his presence grounding the panic. He didn't shout; he merely pointed, and men followed. Under his direction, Ava's ideas were implemented, and heavy timber was dragged to the village perimeter. These weren't just fences; they were massive, jagged barricades. Sharpened stakes, fire-hardened and slicked with animal fat to prevent a grip, were driven into the earth at lethal angles, pointing toward the path the Hippo Tribe would surely take.
Even the ground itself was being turned into a weapon. Groups of males worked in teams, digging deep, narrow pits along the outskirts. They also dug a trench around the tribe and put sharpened wooden sticks inside and concealed with plant vines just as they did with the pits along the outskirts of the tribes territory.
Near the road entrance of the village, George led a group of older males who were no longer fit for the front lines but possessed the wisdom of a dozen winters. They were assembling "The Fallen wooden Teeth", massive bundles of sharpened logs suspended by thick vines high in the canopy above the main entrance.
"Tighten the knots!" George roared, his usual calm replaced by a serrated edge. "If those ropes snap too early, you aren't just killing a hippo; you're killing your brothers below!"