Timett Son of Timett paced irritably beside the fire.
The campfire cast light over his grim face.
The Wildlings sent to scout the direction of Valleydeep Town were dispatched again and again.
Yet the news they brought back was always the same.
"Timett Son of Timett!" a Wildling reported cautiously.
He was terrified of angering the fearsome Red Hand.
Timett Son of Timett abruptly stopped, his voice hoarse. "Three hundred men? They truly only have three hundred men?"
The Wildling swallowed. "Yes, Timett Son of Timett!"
"Only a few hundred! And... and those soldiers even look listless!"
"They're all guarding the spoils we left behind!"
"Timett Son of Timett, could this be some Flatlander trick?" An older Wildling approached, shaking his head. "How could three hundred men have hunted down so many of us?"
"This time, we suffered grievous losses. Nearly every tribe lost more than half its warriors." Timett Son of Timett looked toward Valleydeep Town, his eyes gleaming viciously. "Some tribes were even wiped out entirely!"
He growled, his teeth grinding audibly. "I cannot slink back to the mountains like this. What will the Burned Men think of me? How will the other tribes mock me?"
Timett Son of Timett gritted his teeth.
"That Flatlander war leader named Suleiman has ruined me—and everything the Mountain Clans have!"
"I want his head! I will return to the mountains carrying his head!"
"Then we'll take back everything we left beneath Stone City's walls!"
"Only then can we wash away our shame, lessen our losses, and make our people fear and respect me once more!"
He swept his gaze over the surviving tribal chiefs and warriors around him. Most of their eyes were filled with exhaustion and confusion.
Yet some had their flames of vengeance rekindled by his words.
"Gather every