When the Boughs Break

[Serril Indaiyu]

The leering, lugubrious hill giant stood undaunted, his boastful laughter booming over the trees, scattering flocks of birds before him. He sneered with scabby lips stretched taught around yellowed teeth as the villagers groveled before him, his beady eyes filled with dark intent.

"FOOLY LITTLES, RUMBLEJAW TELL YOU
TWO OX AND TEN WHISKY BARRELS BRING
OR CATCH A LITTLE AND MAKE EM SING"

With another laugh, Rumblejaw's mighty hand began to close around Fair Maiden Daphne, who cried out "Please! Won't a hero come save us, in our hour of need?!"

And as the clouds appeared at their darkest, a wind blew true and parted way for the sun. The rays cast down, catching their light upon a figure cresting the hill. For a moment he sat upon his steed, taking command of the situation - a magnificent cataphract, clad in the very sun's own liquid radiance....

"What's a catatact?" Serril asked his sister Hana, breaking the scene as he clumsily tried to correct for the borrowed bonnet slipping from his mop of curly blonde hair. Behind him, a deer maintained an awkward pose with its head down, with the firbolg boy standing roughly between the antlers.


"Serril, you ruined it! And it's cataphract!" Hana sighed in frustration, her breath steaming in the late winter air as she put away a heavily-used storybook into her pack. "Down, Tut-Tut. Ombo, relax."

Tut-Tut, a giant badger, grunted and squatted prone, letting Hana slide off to the side. Ombo backed away, but not before chewing on Serril's hair.

"When do I get to be Sir Gadrey? Wait, Ombo, stop!"

"You can be Sir Gadrey, but you're getting rescued by Daphne the Fair, and I still get the sword." For emphasis, Hana brandished the well-whittled prop they had used for many such productions in the past.

"But why?"

"Cause I'm older and I'm bigger." Hana replied matter-of-factly, flourishing the wooden sword before resting the flat of the blade across her shoulders. "And I had to play Daphne when Tatva was playing Sir Gadrey, so you have to play Daphne with me. Whenever we get a new brother or sister, you can play the hero then."

It was a familiar refrain. Time and again, turned away on account of being the baby of the family. Serril sighed, and Hana retrieved her borrowed bonnet. In the distance, the low thrum of a horn sounded in the direction of the Grove. The call to supper.

"Okay Onbo, alright Tut-Tut, playtime's over." The two firbolg children each gave their animal playmates their due in the form of a few slices of sugar beet. Hana took Serril by the hand, and they began to beat the path back home.

[Serril Indaiyu]

Though the light in the Moonwood was waning, they could almost tell the way by feel, so sacred was the knowledge of places that children go to play. The pair crested a hill, and stood before a clearing dominated by two ancient live oaks, that had grown so massive that their canopies had long-since overlapped. In this space, dozens and dozens of lanterns held suspended with rope from branches with care, cast a comfortable illumination among a few dozen round lodges built of timber and mud thatch. Closer within, a crescent array of tables had begun to fill with other members of the Twinboughs Herd, filling the ambient sounds of evening with the pleasant sounds of greeting and conversation.

Serril ran ahead, now pulling his sister along behind as he carefully weaved between much larger aunts, third cousins, great grandparents, and the occasional no-relation. There were no assigned seats at the communal tables, so you never knew who you were going to be sitting with, but usually each household tried to eat together as a group. Serril and Hana paused as Gadroh Wannigan eased down to sit on the usual knotted root he tended to fancy, grunting as his knees protested all the way down to a sitting pose. Once there, the older Firbolg simply packed a heavy pipe and began to strum a banjo, which brought a few claps from all around.

"Always on time for supper call!" A familiar voice called from behind, as a hand scooped each child up with a brief yelp of surprise. That quickly turned to giggles, as Hana and Serril both wriggled around to face their father Guthir, who had wrangled his youngest children into an energetic hug.

"I'm sure you have plenty of tales of your thrilling heroics, but I'm afraid I have another heroic task for you. Have you seen your sisters?"

Hana and Serril shook their heads in unison. They'd been playing since helping with midday forage and their afternoon chores. That didn't completely stop Hana, however. She had a healthy fascination for gossip.

"Papa, I saw Jobi Ounay give Tatva a pretty scrimshaw antler. Does that make them boyfriend and girlfriend?"

Normally calm and unflappable, Guthir found his reply halting. Kids and the things they say.

"I think your mother might be the one to ask for that one." Guthir deflected with a laugh, depositing Hana into his wife Kam's waiting hands.

"Two out of four children found!" He grinned, draping a hefty arm around Serril, who was already squirming out of his grip to see what was on the table itself.

"Wash your hands, children-of-mine." Kam never raised her voice, but she had long perfected that eldritch art of saying words in just the right tone to cause children to behave. It worked more than it didn't, and with a grumble in unison, both Serril and Hana excused themselves for the wash basin. Before the parents could enjoy a moment of peace, the other missing part of the family arrived.

"Well there you two are." Guthir looked to Tatva with a glimmer of mischief. "So what's this I'm hearing about Jobi Ounay and a scrimshawed antler, eh?"

Pink flushed instantly on Tatva's long ears, broad nose, and cheeks. "Hana!" She reached for her younger sister, and was plunked back in her seat by Sibi, the eldest of the Indaiyu children.

"Heeyyyy, no fightin' at the supper table." Tall, athletic, and favoring her mother, Sibi Indaiyu reached for one of the large family-style dishes at the table, hoisting it up to dredge the ladle for a portion for her own bowl. A thick orange porridge plopped in with the thump of the wooden spoon. Not one to mince food and conversation, Sibi regarded each of her kin, then tucked in, propping elbows on the table to enable the efficient movement of spoon from bowl to mouth and back again.

"Acorn porridge again?" Serril watched the communal bowl filled again with a top-off, visibly disappointed.

"Be thankful, kind-eyed son." Kam finished a spoon of her own portion. "Not everyone living outside our community sees winter's end with enough food to eat. Remember, we all work together so that none go without."

It was the first thing Serril had learned in this world, and it was the lesson that never ventured far from his heart. Every member of the Herd knew the stories handed down, of the joining of the tribes to become one community - one people. Everything was shared - from food and water to possessions and stories. Especially stories.

"What about outside the Herd? If people are going without, shouldn't we help them?"

"We do. Well, we help each other." Guthir crumbled a sage leaf into his porridge, mixing with his spoon for a few moments before taking a tentative bite. "Thats why the caravans come."

Instantly, the three younger Indaiyu children's eyes sparkled.

"The caravan's coming?"

"Is the snow off the pass?"

"When will they be here?"

"Will they have new books?"

"What about chocolate?"

"Children, children, please!" Guthir was more tickled than annoyed by the enthusiasm. "These are all great questions. Maybe save them for your sister for when she's..."

Eyes turned to Sibi, who had now reached for a crusty round of acorn bread, ripping it in half to serve as an edible scoop for her porridge. She came up for air, mindful for a pass with a napkin before addressing the mob.

"Probably a week from now. Pass is open, and we've been watching the way."

Serril adored the ground that Sibi walked on, and hung onto every one of her laconic words. Sibi caught his eyes, reached for the ladle, and piled another spoon of porridge into Serril's bowl.

"Eat. You want to go on patrols like me? You have to eat."

That lit a fire. Serril took a heaping bite of the porridge, less bothered by the sameness of it.
"Why do they meet you far away from home?" Serril talked with his mouth full, then thought better of it. "I want to meet caravan people."

"It's not safe." Sibi tore into another bite of acorn bread, reaching for a carafe of water before continuing. "You don't know those people, Serril. Not like the way you know family or the Herd. You don't know what they do, where they're from, or who or what they serve."

His mother continued as she added some honey to acorn tea. "Outsiders often don't share our respect and our concord with this wild space. Most wish only to take and take and take, but never give back. We must all be careful who we allow to traverse the wood. We trade what we need, for what they need, but only those who respect that balance."

Guthir fussed with a pepper mill before setting it aside, satisfied for now. "Remember when I told you about the covenant the families made with the Mother of Waters?"

Serril nodded.

"Well, in return for a place to grow and sustain our people, we were given an important task. And that's to guard this wild place we all love. So that's what your sister's doing. That's what me and your mom did before. And one day, that task will fall to you."

[Serril Indaiyu]

"And one day, that task will fall to you..."

The nights were steadily growing shorter, but still cast their pall early on. Everyone pitched in to help clean up after supper, and the few who had chores remaining hurried to tend to the tasks. A few generous hearts occasionally helped their fellow herdmates to double-time the work, so everyone could have a bit of leisure time before bed. About the only one who hadn't stopped working was old Gadroh Wannigan, still busy serenading the grove by banjo, but now with softer and lower folk lullabies. Occasionally he'd pause to pack his pipe again or to take a glug out of the clay jug of scrumpy resting against his belly. From the resonant sploonk of the scant remaining liquid pitching to the bottom of the jug after the last sip, there probably weren't many songs left in the evening.

With the hut's flap closed, the music took an even softer note, becoming pleasingly woollen and ambient, the banjo's plucks and twangs weaving into the occasional pop and spit from the waning log on the fire in the center of the room, the sound wrapping around the drowsy family within in tandem with a faint orange glowing warmth.

Serril couldn't sleep. It wasn't entirely Hana's fault, but she was still in the violence hours of sleep where she wormed and squirmed and kicked covers, blankets, and brothers alike until she either reached comfort or fell asleep trying. No, Serril knew he wasn't sleepy, even if he wasn't getting half-pushed off their modest mattress. He followed the orange fire light as it caught in reflection off the well-honed spearhead affixed to Sibi's weapon, his eyes following the spear's robust haft, itself hewn from the ancient wood of one of the twin oaks.

"I know what you're thinking."

Serril startled slightly with an inhale. Sibi lay on the mattress next to his, her green eyes catching some of the firelight. Only shorter than father by a few inches, Sibi had hilariously outgrown the mattress she used, which was sized for outlanders. Her knees extended past the mattress at the bottom, with her heels resting on the ground. Everything from the shoulders up was supported by a mound of haphazard pillows. Unlike cover-hoarding Tatva, Sibi barely bothered with a thin blanket, and the dancing fire light traced along the contours of her muscles.

"You do?"

Sibi gave her younger brother a flat expression, then shifted her weight to the right, patting the scant free space on her mattress a few times. The wordless message was clear - come lay down over here and keep your voice down. (You had to understand Sibi like that, half the things she said were without words.) Serril quietly untangled gangly arms and legs with Hana, who finished pushing him the rest of the way off their mattress. Serril quietly lay down beside his oldest sister, and they both looked at the motes of fire dancing on the spearhead, as the shadows licked and danced on the wall behind.

"You're wondering if it has a name."

Serril's eyes were like saucers. Everyone knew a little magic, but Sibi always seemed to be able to look right into people. Father called it In Sight, which didn't make sense for a spell name.

"Like Sir Gadrey's sword?" he breathed out in reverent whisper, suddenly realizing he was about to become custodian to hidden knowledge. Sibi's normally stern face eased into a smile. She squeezed Serril in a one-armed hug.

"Like Shadowrend."

"You read Gallant Tales of Yesteryear?" Serril gawked.

"It was my book to begin with" Sibi swallowed a chuckle, so that no sound came out, only a shake at her middle, "why do think it looks so ratty?"

Serril until now hadn't given much thought to Sibi having previously been a little girl. In his mind, she simply entered existence as she was now - big and strong and big.

"So what's it called? It must have a great name. It was papa's spear before it was yours?"

"Yup."

Serril's impatience was reaching the limits of being baited, and he sat up slightly.

"Sibi!"

A chorus of "SHHHH's" emerged from family around the hut. Guthir snorted, recycling his snore pattern. Sibi put a finger over her lip, pressed two fingers of her other hand into a boop against Serril's nose, then pulled him back to lie down beside her.

"Promise not to tell?"

"Mother of Waters my witness, honest plus a hundred."

Sibi milked the suspense as much as she dared. She tilted her head to give a whisper for her brother's ears only. His wondrous expression soon curdled into confusion, then disapproval.

"Wait, it's just called 'spear'?"

Sibi turned her head back to look at the wall.

"Yep."

"That's a terrible name."

[Serril Indaiyu]

Sibi's middle shook with another quiet laugh.

"It is what it is. It hasn't earned a true name."

Serril nodded at that. Firbolgs had a strange relationship with names. Only in the last few generations did it become common to have names given for the purpose of being names, and mostly to accomodate Outlanders. Within the herd, everyone was just as comfortable with deed-names and memory-names as they were for the more structured Outlander kind. Some of the elder second generation nomads from the Feywild tribes didn't even have names in the proper sense. It didn't stop everyone from knowing everyone else.

Another thought crossed the boy's mind, and he frowned, brows knitting as he tussled to find the words.

"Have you ever..."

"No." She replied without hesitation, not needing for him to ask the rest of the question. Sibi's head turned away from regarding the spear to look at Serril again. His brown eyes caught some of the firelight, and he looked relieved.

"No one has, not for well over a century. Not even papa has."

"If you have to, you know...will you be sad?"

"Sad? I don't think so. Is a sow bear sad when she defends her cubs? What about Sir Gadrey rescuing Lady Daphne?"

Serril followed along with her logic, and Sibi continued. "Maybe sad that it happened? I wouldn't be sad to protect you, the rest of the family, or the herd, if that's what you mean."

Sibi placed her large, calloused hand over Serril's smaller one, curling around his palm to give a squeeze. A tussling sound caused them both to look to the left, as Hana completed the conquest of her own mattress, kicking the last knitted blanket off the side. Sibi sighed, then shifted over a few inches, offering Serril little more space.

"Come on. Don't fidget. If you kick me, I'm kicking you out."

"Thank you, Apple." Serril whispered, using one of his sister's memory-names. The boy shifted inward as Sibi pulled her blanket over to cover him. She draped a long arm around his shoulder in a half-embrace, keeping him from falling off the other side.

"Mother of Waters, I pray for a proper bed next season." Sibi grumbled, eventually getting comfortable. The ambient sounds around them were now absent the sweet lullaby twangs of distant banjo chords. Apparently the scrumpy had run out, and so too had Old Gadroh.

"When I get big, I want to be like you." Serril leaned a cheek against Sibi's shoulder, his words thickening with drowsiness that was finally beginning to take hold.

"If you want to get big, that's easy. Eat. Work out. Get enough sleep." the last part she added pointedly.

"But *when* you get big, don't be Apple. You should be Climbs-a-Lot. You should be *yourself*."

Sibi looked at the ceiling, watching shadows weakly dance in the ember light.

"The World Beyond the Wild is cruel. Far more cruel than nature's wrath."

Her head pivoted on her pillow pile, catching Serril's eyes. "A beautiful light shines inside you, baby brother. When you get big, don't let the unkindness of others cover up that light.

Whatever else you need to know can be taught, but you already know how to be who you are. If anyone has a problem with that, they have a problem with me."

Serril smiled at that, his eyelids growing heavy. Sibi carefully portioned a few pillows from her stack, and eased his head from her shoulder. She watched him drift to sleep, and only when she was sure he was out did Sibi allow slumber to overtake.

[Serril Indaiyu]

Three days later...

Serril woke with a mission, getting dressed even before Pepper-Thief had cawed the sunrise. The rooster cocked his head in surprise, looking up from the meager scratchings outside the Indaiyu family hut.

"Shh. I know I'm early, no need to shout on my account." The boy quickly tossed a few hands of field corn on the ground, the noise bringing the hens from their insulated coop.

"Form a line, enough for everybody, I promise." Serril assured as the unusually well-mannered chickens did precisely that. He then wasted little time moving on to the next task, which Pepper-Thief decided he would abide no longer, sending up a premature screech into the purple-pink pre-dawn sky.

Serril went to the next task, then the next, and the next, and the one after that, settling chores in record time. By the time sunlight began creeping over the eastern trees, Serril had put away any mess from his previous chores, washed up, and headed to the closest communal table. He could already smell the familiar aromas of acorns being baked, boiled, and otherwise convinced into becoming breakfast by the dozen or so herdmates working around the central community hearth. Serril grabbed a wooden bowl and spoon, and sat down on the bench, his feet kicking back and forth with nervous energy.

Sibi unfurled her tall frame after passing through the flap of the family hut, standing well over 7 and a half feet tall. She looked down the tables to see any familiar early risers, pausing on someone she did not expect to see, and made a face.

"Never seen you up early. Are Amma and Laughs-Big baking a pie I don't know about?"

Sibi reached across the table, grabbing a bowl and spoon for herself, and plonked down on the bench opposite her brother. Propping on her elbows, she leaned almost over the table to Serril, meeting his eyes.

"I know you're not here for seconds of acorn porridge, so what's all this, then?"

Serril fidgeted in his seat, but didn't let his big sister intimidate him. Her face was a little mad-looking, but it was always a little mad-looking, even when she wasn't.

"You said if I finished my chores early that you'd teach me how to scout and stuff."

Sibi scoffed, then paused. Her long ears flicked back, and she narrowed her eyes, giving her kid brother a glance. Hands clean, clothes not clean but not grubby either.

"Fed the chickens?"

"Uh huh."

"Spread the compost?"

"Uh huh."

"Foraged north ridge?"

"Filled two baskets!"

"Really? What about milking Onawi?"

"It's Tatva's week to do it."

About that time, one of the kinfolk working the hearth approached, placing a heavy bowl of porridge and a basket of bread down, along with a steaming clay carafe. Sibi let Serril squirm a moment more before leaning back, trying not to smile as she caught sight of Serril deflate slightly with held breath. She plunged the ladle into the serving bowl, and filled her brother's bowl first - all the way to the top.

"That's two helpings of porridge. Eat." she commanded, gesturing with her spoon. She reached down the table and pulled the pepper mill and honey pot down, just as a few surprised kinfolk were about to sit as well.

"If you don't clean that bowl, you're not coming with me at all. If you manage that, you're going to *work*. The moment you start whining about being tired, or hungry, or anything like that, you're going back home."

Serril looked up at his sister with a serious face, gripping his spoon with a full fist. His nostrils flared and he looked at his extra-big portion of unloved acorn porridge. The pepper and the honey were there too, but Sibi didn't put any in hers so he wouldn't either. He met her eyes again, and with a stiff upper lip, he went to work, emulating Sibi's all-eating-no-talking method of meal management. With Serril's head hovering directly over his bowl, Sibi could allow herself a grin before she also began to quickly work down breakfast.

[Serril Indaiyu]

"You'd better keep up, little brother."

Sibi moved through the wild spaces of the Moonwood with long, confident, and quiet strides. To Serril's credit, he didn't falter, though he didn't have her grace. Serril also didn't have long legs like Sibi did, which meant he had to move at a more brisk pace. It wasn't so bad until they approached the Bramble - the boundary of the sacred grove to the north. Sibi was an experienced scout, and she barely slowed her pace. She deftly moved between gaps in the snarls of thorny brush, striding her long gait through without interference, and only slowing in places to part an impenetrable snarl with her spear.

Serril bumbled his way through, catching his ankles a few times on some dried thorny vines, which rustled with the disturbance.

"Ouch.' He grimaced, pulling free with a few tugs. When he righted to stand, Sibi was standing next to him again, this time with a stick in her free hand. It was nearly as long as Serril was tall, and he could immediately tell that it was a Good Stick, which was no small thing to find! It wasn't uncommon for a dozen kinfolk or more to gather around the hearth at night and show off any good sticks they found during the forage. With luck and care, they could last for years!

Sibi twirled the haft of her spear sharply and thrust the head down into the leaf-littered ground. She then gripped the good stick with both hands, and put it through its paces, twirling it around forcefully enough to make it whistle through the air. It bowed ever-so-slightly with the force of the movement, and quickly recovered at rest. Dense, resilient wood. Hardy enough. She tossed it to Serril, who nearly dropped the makeshift staff, but managed to clutch it awkwardly at the last moment.

"Watch where I step. Use that to part the way when you have to. Ready?"

Holding his Good Stick with a little more reassurance, Serril pushed a few rogue strands of hair from over his eyes and nodded. With that, Sibi was off again, barely making a sound as her over 7 foot tall frame negotiated every opening and gap within the growth. Serril paid close attention to where she moved and which brambles were a problem. He started moving with more assurance. When a path Sibi took didn't seem to be as passable for him, Serril found a different way, lower to the ground. The moment Sibi felt separation, she turned back, seeing no signs of Serril. Her long ears raised slightly, straining for signs of pursuit from behind. When she finally heard the brambles break, it was to her right instead. Sibi wheeled around...

"Oh." Sibi's mild surprise quickly turned studious, as she mentally traced the last 30 meters, realizing exactly where they diverged. She nodded, a half smile threatening her normally dour face.

"Clever boy. Good work. Maybe there's a little scout in there after all. Come on."

It didn't take too much farther before the snarls of thorned growth thinned and then dissipated entirely. Beyond lay the Wilds, the untamed expanse of the Moonwood. Towering trees stretched high above, taking most of the sunlight for themselves. The occasional spears of light to pierce the canopy illuminated the scapes below in a dreamlike fashion, alighting upon mosses, lichen, and fungi that stitched across the trunks' ancient bark. Eyes accustomed to the constant need of foraging quickly landed on a patch of bluewort growing nearby. Serril broke a thumb-sized piece off a tree trunk, split it in half, stuffed one half in his mouth and offered a piece to Sibi, who ate it as well. He then worked on breaking away a few more pieces to fill his pockets.

"Scout first, forage later. Come on."

Swallowing his treat, Serril followed along. Sibi pointed out a few signs along the way as they ranged the territory. Broad tracks tapering into claws. The bears were finished hibernating.

"We should keep our distance. This sow isn't in the mood." This was close enough to where Umba liked to winter in. While the knowledge of how to speak to animals and plants had been passed through family tradition forever ago, it still didn't mean that animals couldn't have bad attitudes, just like people. Umba was normally surly. With cubs, she'd be even meaner if unexpected company showed up.

"How many cubs?" Sibi tested Serril as they began to walk away. He squatted down on his haunches, staring intently at the disturbed patch of ground.

"Two, I think." He crouch-walked from one set of tracks to another, looking back and forth a few times.

"Almost, you missed that one over there." Sibi tapped Serril on the shoulder, beckoning him on. Once Umba had been given her space, they followed a swollen stream, the rush of the water covering the sounds of their footfalls completely.

"Snow pack is melting quickly."

Serril cupped hands into the stream, pulling up cold, clean water, which he gulped. Sibi also crouched down, taking a few handfuls for herself.

"Apple," Serril managed between gulps, "are we gonna find any Outlanders?"

"It's early, so probably not. Caravans are probably a few days out. But it's possible. There are as many kinds of outlanders as there are trees and beasts in the Wild. That's why we scout."

"What will we do if we find some?"

"Well, we will stay very quiet, and watch from a distance."

"Why?"

Sibi's lips pressed thin. "Because we won't know what kind of outlanders are visiting unless we watch them. It's safer than approaching and revealing ourselves."

Serril thought about that, standing up from the bank of the stream. He reached for his good stick again, thumping the end of it pleasantly on the ground.

"If they're good ones, can we meet them?" he asked, a little too eager, and he knew it. Sibi looked at him skeptically.

"Let's just see if we find any, and go from there, okay?"

[Serril Indaiyu]

It would be necessary to cross the surging stream in order to make it to the north pass. However, the water was too deep and rushing too fast to cross where they were, so Sibi began to hike the gentle grade that would eventually lead to the headwaters. But long before that happened, they came across a place where there were enough rocks and a gentle enough flow downstream where they could cross.

"Climb on my back."

Serril hesitated, looking at the stream in front of them. His grip tightened on his good stick.

"I can do it. I can make it across."

Sibi sank her spear into the riverbank, and picked her little brother up like a sack of potatoes.

"You'll have plenty of chances to impress me later. You get washed down the stream or get sick and die, mother will kill me. So get on my back, Climbs-a-Lot, or we're going home."

Serril did just that, throwing his arms around Sibi's neck, and holding on with his ankles at each side. Sibi picked up her spear and Serril's stick, and moved with ease, stepping confidently across a series of broken segments of shale, mindful of each step. She used both the haft of her spear and the good stick for support as she moved across, eventually finding the other side.

"Hard part's over. It's downhill to the pass from here."

Serril scampered down, and Sibi gave him his stick back. They began the walk back down the slope.

"Are you gonna teach me how to fight?"

Sibi paused, looking at her brother with raised eyebrows.

"You want to fight? My sweet brother?"

Serril blinked, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he shuffled his feet.

"No, but I wanna know how, in case I have to protect the Grove, like you do."

Sibi dropped down to eye-level with Serril. She reached to his arm, wrapping her entire hand around his bicep, and giving it a squeeze.

"You're pretty young, and pretty small to be a fighter just yet. Technically, you're not supposed to do learn to fight until your Enk-Skohba."

Sibi rose to her feet, gesturing with her head. "Come on."

Serril sighed. The age-old nemesis of children. You're too young. It always seemed that anything fun or interesting was sealed away by time itself. Old people liked to tell you that time passes you by before you know it, but every child knows full well that time takes FOREVER.

"It's not fair," the boy whinged, shuffling his feet a little. "Why does some party that I'm supposed to have in a few years decide what I can do or not?"

"Because then you'll be a man." Sibi replied plainly, watching a trio of buzzards circling a ways in the distance across the stream.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Sibi chuckled. A rare sound. "I think you should be asking papa that question."

Serril huffed in frustration. Adults loved their riddles! His sister paused once more, and pivoted around.

"I tell you what. I'll show you four moves that you can use with that stick of yours."

Serril's eyes began to brighten. Sibi hoisted him up by his armpits, and held him at eye level, letting his feet dangle.

"This is for self defense only. If I find out you've used this on any kinfolk and especially Hana, me taking your stick away is going to be the least of your worries. Do you understand me?"

The boy gulped heavily, and nodded. With a hmph, Sibi dropped him back to his feet.

"Watch what I do."

Sibi's stance broadened and deepened, the skin at her knuckles creaking agains the spear's haft as her grift tightened. With a rush of expended breath through gritted teeth, she thrust forward at abdomen level.

"One."

Sharply withdrawing, Sibi whipped the butt of the spear around, the counterweight whistling lightly in the air with the velocity as it swung about where someone's head might be.

"Two."

Arresting the momentum, Sibi reversed herself, jamming the spear's butt down and back in a low sweep that would surely catch somebody behind the knees.

"Three."

From there, a swift upending of the spear, and Sibi jammed it into the earth at an angle, right about where someone's back might be after falling prone.

"Four."

Sibi looked back to Serril, whose eyes were as big as saucers.

"Heh. Want to see it all at once?"

He nodded enthusiastically. Sibi again dropped deep into a stance, drawing in a deep breath "SHHHH-OneTwoThreeFour" she exploded into a hurricane of speed and strength, moving with enough surety to whip the wind and cause the leaves to dance with her movement. When she ended with the spearhead piercing the ground and the haft quivering in place, the leaves fell from the hurricane like confetti.

"Wow" Serril whispered in awe.

Sibi pulled her spear free again, and found a tree to lean against. She made a small gesture to her brother.

"Well, go on then. On with it."

Serril stepped into the clearing, and did his earnest best to emulate his big sister in not only form, but intensity. He stomped his feet into an exaggerated broad stance, lowering his butt into a stance similar to Sibi's opening. He breathed really big, in and out, and One Two Three Four!

Well, he got to three, at least. Tripping over his own good stick, Serril tumbled into the leaves. "Oof." He sat back up, pulling leaves out of his hair. Sibi reached a big hand down to him, hoisting the boy back to his feet.

"Nobody's perfect the first time. That's why you practice. But not now."

She jerked a thumb back in the direction of their destination.

"We've still got work to do, so hop to."

[Serril Indaiyu]

Sibi descended the last half-eroded length of the switchback leading down to their destination. Behind her, Serril negotiated his way down, making full use of his good stick when the descending path became uneven. Crouching low, Sibi looked back to her brother, holding up a hand. He stopped where he was, and eased down as she did, waiting as Sibi negotiated the rest of the way by herself. Only when she was sure the way was clear did she beckon her brother to join. A few moments later, he emerged from the brush.

"Welcome to Mithral Pass." She gestured at the trail, cut between the teeth of a few snow-covered caps. From ground level, it didn't look like much. An ugly scar cut into the ground where nothing grew. A thousand ruts from a thousand wagon wheels, most seemingly-ancient, having been made from the last passing wagons taking the journey before last winter.

Stepping a bit further into the open, Serril looked down the length and scant breadth of the trail. To the east, it continued on through the Wild, until the shade below the canopy obscured it completely. To the west, the trailing remnants of mountains hid the destination from view.

"What is Mithral?"

"A metal, I think. Dwarves speak of such things. Caravans come from Mithral Hall, which is a city of Dwarves beneath the ground."

"They live in a cave? Like Umba?"

Sibi grimaced slightly, quickly reaching the limits of what she knew of the World Beyond the Wilds.

"The traders call it a mine."

"What's that?"

"You know how we forage? We look for food to share with the herd? Dwarves forage too. They dig and dig and dig some more. More than any of us have ever dug. More than Tut-Tut has dug. Only instead of food, they forage for ore."

"What's that?"

Sibi walked the pass, heading west towards the increasingly-jagged slopes of the mountains flanking to the north and south. "They're a kind of rock. If you get them very very hot, and hit them with a hammer over and over again, they become metal."

That was a word that Serril knew, and instantly lighted upon. "Like for your spear!"

"Shh!" Sibi rebuked him to keep his voice down. After a few moments of silence, she spoke low again, "Yes. That's how we get metal. We trade with the dwarves."

It was all beginning to make sense. "Thats why we get more food than we need?"

"So we can share with others, and they can share with us."

"And we give food to the Dwarves because they only forage metal and you can't eat metal."

"...sure."

Sibi's voice trailed off as she stared in the distance.

"Sibi?"

Ahead on the trail, past the remnants of an old rockslide, a copse of trees clung to an eroding outcropping. Against the vertical trunks, it was easy to spot three horizontally-aligned arrows breaking the profile. Once that was spotted, it wasn't difficult to spot the blood.

"Serril, do like you're taught. Hide."

The boy's eyes grew wide at his sister's words, and the sudden tension found in them. Then he saw the blood, and gasped.

"Nankantanta." Serril spoke a phrase in Giant that all Firbolgs learned from a very young age, and disappeared from sight with the slightest ripple of bent light where he once stood. With her own Nankantanta, Sibi was also gone with a faint pop. Serril moved away from the trail, finding a rock to hide behind where he could keep an eye on his sister...wherever she went. When the illusory magic concealing him had faded, he was safely hidden away. About that time, Sibi also appeared in sight again, standing next to the trees and the blood.

Serril dared not make a sound, but he watched Sibi inspect the scene. With a hefty tug, she wrenched one of the arrows free from a tree. The scout then canvassed the rocks around the tree, picking through the bloody leavings. There didn't seem to be much of anything left, from how long she remained there. When Sibi returned, she was wiping blood from her hands on a kerchief, and looked even more dour than usual.

"We're leaving."

"Sibi, what happened?"

The scout opened a pack, inspecting a few meager findings she was able to pick through. Finding no answers there, she cinched it tight, tying it back at her waist.

"I don't know. And that's enough reason to take you home. We're leaving."

The quiet urgency in Sibi's cadence and body language was starting to plant a quaver of fear in her brother's voice. Sibi took him by the hand, pulling him onward.

"Someone got hurt? Hurt bad? Maybe they need help?" Serril kept looking back as he was pulled along.

"You've seen death before, Serril. They're gone." Sibi said with certainty, suddenly glad that her back was to her brother so that he couldn't see the look on her face.

[Serril Indaiyu]

One Hour Later...

Traveling back the way they came with expediency, Sibi and Serril returned to the Grove late in the afternoon. Serril was visibly exhausted, pushing to keep pace with his big sister, who had pushed on the return without pause.

"I know you're tired, dirty, a little banged up and cut up. I need you to do one more thing. You can't mention you were there."

"Am I in trouble?" he asked with a tinge of worry. Sibi stopped in her tracks, dropping to eye level as she held him squarely by each shoulder.

"Absolutely not. I'm the one in trouble, if they find out I took you there, and you saw that."

Sibi bit at her lower lip, averting her eyes.

"I'm sorry."

They were approaching the break in the woods leading to the Grove itself. Just beyond, the sight of family huts could be seen arrayed before the giant twin oaks.

"Get washed up and get some new clothes. I'll be in the lodge house...explaining all this."

For the first time in as long as Serril could remember, Sibi seemed unsure; uneasy. Her hand kept kneading themselves, as if trying to rub dried blood away. She closed the hut's cover after seeing Serril inside, and headed for the lodge on the other side of the twin trees.

Serril did as he was told, drawing a bath in the family basin. Not wanting to take the time to prepare hot water, he braved through bathing in bracing cold, teeth chattering as he furiously scrubbed away dirt and tended tender thorn punctures. Finishing what had to be the fastest bath of his life, he toweled off next to the fire pit, letting the heat ease his chattering teeth until he was able to slip on a fresh jumper and pants. He had no intention of staying home. Not when Sibi needed him.

It turned out, that was the extent of Serril's plan. As he loitered near the community hearth on the other side of the lodge, Serril wasn't sure exactly what he was going to do. But Sibi was concerned about something, and he didn't intend on leaving her in the lurch. He'd think of something.

Just then, he figured it out. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Windra Broadleaf leaving the hearth and headed to the lodge. She was a part of the Moot, the assembly of the family elders of the Herd. Each family matriarch and patriarch was obliged to attend when matters concerning the Herd had to be discussed. As Windra approached the lodge door, she paused at the threshold, making conversation with another elder on the porch, leaving a small gap to pass through.

Serril got as close as he dared, even taking a few steps up to the lodge porch. Mrs. Broadleaf was talking to Old Gadroh Wannigan, who didn't talk much himself, only punctuating long periods of her dialogue with an introspective grunt or a nod. While their attention was focused on their adult conversation, Serril didn't think he could dare another step. With a dry mouth, he whispered Nankantanta, and vanished. By the time Mrs. Broadleaf turned at the sound of a creaking board, Serril was through the door and long gone.

The lodge itself wasn't a mystery. Serril had been in there lots of times. Everyone had. There weren't many secrets kept in the Herd, and anyone who wanted to listen to decisions being made was allowed to attend. Still, he didn't want Sibi to be cross with him, and she wouldn't be happy if she discovered him here. But there was no way that he was going to stay home for this, not if he could help. Somehow.

By the time Serril blinked back into sight, he had cleverly found himself underneath the long table that dominated the lodge interior. Clever may have been short-lived, however, as each chair began to lurch out with a wooden screech, and legs began to appear as one-by-one, each of the elders found their way in. Serril began to contort himself in creative ways to avoid shifting legs, twitching feet, and ever-sliding chairs. He heard the rich, jovial voice of his father carrying over the din as he arrived. In the dwindling moments of quiet, he could also hear his mother, who rarely needed to raise her voice to be heard. Other voices he recognized, and a few he could guess at.

"Who has called this moot?" that was Crazy-Mountain, from the nomad tribes.

"Kam of the Indaiyu." his mother's even-toned, proud cadence was unmistakeable. "The Eldest-of-Mine will speak of what she has found at Mithral Pass."

Murmurs rolled through the table above, and Serril strained to pick up anything...then cupped his ears as the sound of a heavy gavel hit its striker.

"We will witness her testimony."

In the distance, Serril heard the heavy doors creak open again.

"Sibi of the Indaiyu, this moot awaits to hear what you have to say."

[Serril Indaiyu]

Sibi hated speaking before the Moot. Individually, the Elders were pleasant - usually. All 24 of them, together in the same room and looking at you at once? It was the singularly most dreadful thing she ever had to do. Rather than trying to spend mental energy figuring out who she was supposed to look at when talking, Sibi picked a knot on a board halfway between Angry-Cloud and Mrs. Broadleaf.

"Meet my eyes, Eldest Daughter." Kam put an end to that, voice calm as a cup of water carried by a mailed fist. A mercy. Sibi nodded, a the barest of smiles the only gratitude she could afford, given the subject matter that lay ahead.

"I believe there's been a murder in Mithral Pass."

Murmurs roiled the table as the Elders tried to make sense of the news. Reshia - matriarch of the prime Ounay tribe, cleared her throat. The murmurs subsided as she spoke her turn. "That doesn't sound definitive. What leads you to this conclusion?"

Now with a clear person to talk to, Sibi locked on.

"On my patrol, I spotted heavy arrows - of the sort from a longbow, buried deep in the trees around Hangman's Copse. Fresh blood on the rocks, and quite a bit of it."

"Arrows and blood, and no body found? Hmmmmm. More likely the work of poachers." Angry-Cloud spoke in a slow and plodding pace befitting the eldest of the elders. The fey nomad's wrinkle-furrowed forehead seemed to sit lower on his face with the weight of his years, so that the wild brambles that were his eyebrows almost touched his cheeks, even when wide awake. He eased back into his chair with a gentle creak, indulging his fondness for Leaf, chewing in slow and exaggeration motion with the four teeth left in his mouth.

"Hmmmm..." The quintuple-centenarian paused mid-chew. Somewhere behind the bushes of his eyebrows, Sibi thought she could see his beady eyes looking about. "They arrive earlier each year. More brazen each time. Now they scarcely wait for the snows to thaw before they take and take. It may be time to take up the Old Ways once more."

That topic touched off a mild argument among the fey nomads, including an "Absolutely not." in zero uncertain terms from Kam and Guthir almost in unison. Sibi tried not to smile, but she was relieved to hear them come out against that idea.

"It served us once before." Crazy-Mountain shifted in her seat, a brightly-colored array of bone and glass bead earrings weighing down her ears jangling with her movement. As one of the last of the nomads to still have their horns, she always commanded attention. "We were no less the guardians of the land back then, even when we did not settle."

"Are we seriously talking about breaking the Concord?" Mrs. Broadleaf's voice raised slightly. Crazy-Mountain dipped her head very slightly in deference, the palisade of waxed blonde hair that sat between her shiny horns shaking slightly with the movement.

"I would not cheaply break that oath." Crazy-Mountain conceded. "Nor should any of us." She met Mrs. Broadleaf eye-to-eye, who seemed satisfied with the explanation, nodding her head.

Crazy-Mountain turned her attention back to Sibi.

"This talk of the Old Ways isn't helpful. Angry-Cloud says poachers. What say you?"

Sibi met Crazy-Mountain's eyes and nodded. Strong and taciturn, it was no surprise she was one of the elders Sibi identified with most often. "There was more than blood, but not by much. Remains. Not enough to identify, but I'd wager man of some sort over beast."

The temperature of the room seemed to chill a few degrees. Sibi reached into her pouch, pulling out a bloodstained note that had once been crumpled, then pressed again into a crude fold.

"I also found this."

She unfolded the paper, placing it in the center of the long table. As the Elders at each end of the table strained for a glimpse, the murmurs grew again - now tinged with worry and fear.

The unfolded note bore no words at all. Only a simple illustration of a forked branch, decorated and carved in a way that was instantly recognizable to anyone in the Moot.

"That can't be possible." Kam looked down at the paper, something akin to horror managing to break her staid countenance. "No Outlander should have any knowledge of this."

Kam reached for the note, drawing it under her nose as she closed her eyes, blocking out anything from her mind but the scent. A few short punctuated inhales and she opened her eyes, crushing the note into her fist.

"Gnolls."

[Serril Indaiyu]

Chairs began to shift and screech in rapid succession as elders took to their feet on each side of the table. The murmurs had grown into a handful of arguments and debates. Serril had a little more room to move about, and tried to make himself small as he scooted along the floor, eavesdropping along the way.

"Do we have enough scouts?"

"We don't even know how many gnolls there are. It could be one. It could be one hundred."

"The soonest we can convene a war party would be tomorrow. The foragers are out. We are too few."

"It's premature to even talk of war parties! We don't even know what we're fighting or even if we're fighting."

"If they know that much, why do you think they came here?"

"ENOUGH!"

Serril's eyes widened at the outburst as he hid. Crazy-Mountain banged the gavel down again, and the boy cupped his hands over his drooping ears to lessen the din.

Crazy-Mountain leaned fully over the table, the wood creaking as she bore her weight on her knuckles, looking at those around her.

"I am going."

She pushed off the table, and started striding to the door, pausing in front of Sibi. She spent a moment appraising the ranger, clasping a thick hand around one of her biceps.

"Hm, stronger since last I remember. Come with me."

"She is my daughter and mine to command." Kam interjected, walking up to the pair. It was clear that her intention was not to upbraid her fellow elder's lack of protocol, but rather to use it as an excuse to interject herself. Kam looked at Sibi in that way she always did, like her eyes were capable of seeing right through lies, omissions, flesh, and bone. She then turned back to Crazy-Mountain.

"I will come with you, and she with me."

Kam looked back to Guthir, who gave her a worried look, swallowed it down, and nodded in suport.

"This convenes the Moot. Until we return, speak none of this with the rest of the Herd."

Serril watched the procession of legs beginning to line up and file out of the lodge, the floorboards creaking as they passed. As quiet slowly ebbed back into the lodge, he exhaled a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"Nankatanta." he whispered, popping out of existence once more. A chair squeaked, moving by some unseen force as Serril scampered to his feet. He headed for the door...

"Oof."

...an unseen Serril ran headlong into an immovable nothing, repelling him to the floor in a tumble. He popped back into view two seconds before his mother did as well. She looked down at her son, not at all surprised to see him there.

"Kind-Eyed Son, you must think your mother as simple as milk. She too was once a mischievous child."

Kam reached down, pinching one of Serril's ears between thumb and forefinger as she used that leverage to persuade Serril to his feet.

"We will have a serious talk when I return. Go to your Father."

Serril's face wore his worry without guile.

"Don't go. I'm scared."

Kam dropped down to her son's level.

"Don't underestimate your mother a second time today, Son-of-Mine. I will return. Until I do, you should think about explaining what you were doing here."

Serril gulped, his eyes downturned. He didn't see his mother's kiss coming, planted right where his forehead met the curls of his hair. She drew him close into a hug, nose pressed against his hair, just breathing him in before separating.

Kam began to shift, her physical form transforming and bulking out into a massive grizzly bear. She again approached Serril, this time giving him a much messier kiss, dampening his hair.

"MooOOOoom!"

The bear snuffled and grunted, and began to head in the direction that Crazy-Mountain and Sibi had gone.