The chieftains and shamans of more than a dozen tribes sat around the campfire, the dancing flames reflecting solemn, anxious faces.
The air was filled with the rich aroma of roasting meat and an undercurrent of unease. Occasionally, sparks crackled and burst, yet no one spoke.
At last, Hultan, the elderly shaman of the Gray Mane Tribe, broke the silence.
"The human army has already seized control of the water source." His hoarse voice grated like sandpaper. "Their weapons spew flame and thunder. Our warriors can't even get close."
"Then attack them at night!" the young Red Fang Chieftain slammed his fist into the ground, his bone ornaments clattering. "While it's dark—"
"It's useless." Another chieftain interrupted coldly, pulling back his blanket to reveal a bandaged lower leg. "They've laid invisible steel thorns, and they can summon light as bright as day. I led thirty warriors from my tribe in an operation organized by Lord Urgok. Half of them never came back."
Silence fell around the campfire once more. The night wind swept past with dampness, yet it could not dispel the gloom weighing on everyone's hearts.
"Our bows can't shoot as far as their flame-spewing weapons." One chieftain rubbed his quiver. "The War Horses will be driven mad by the thunderous noise. Now even our last water source..."
The fire crackled, scattering sparks into the night wind.
"We can migrate!" The Red Fang Chieftain suddenly rose, his bone ornaments clattering. "We'll head east, cross the desert, and find the lakes the humans haven't seized!"
Several chieftains and shamans murmured their agreement, sparks of hope kindling in their eyes.
But Groom, chieftain of the Iron Jaw Tribe, merely shook his head slowly, his rough fingers rubbing the bone ornament hanging around his neck.
"Foolish." He spoke in a hoarse voice.