Cycnopy arrived, covered in blood. He had been beaten and stabbed. It was clear he had barely made it back to the village, he seemed to be crawling. I left my bison and ran to his side. He lay on the ground, struggling to speak, "Their weapons were hard, not like stone, I introduced you and myself, I stated our demands and they attacked me. There were twenty of them in total. I have failed you," he said before losing consciousness, his eyes closing. Annabel and Ygritte appeared nearby, rushing to me with faces full of tears and worry. "Tend to him at once and do not leave his side," I ordered, my voice both command and plea. I stood up, a volcano of anger rising inside me, and I shouted in fury.
Everyone around fell silent, those with weapons, the young and the old, all turned their eyes to me. "Gather your gear, we are going to wipe that tribe from the earth," I said; my words were like a blade. When I turned my head, I saw my bison right beside me, its cage open. It looked at me as if inviting me; in its eyes a spark had ignited, a creature waiting for the call to war. I had left its cage unlatched—preparation was irrelevant now, because its gaze said, "Let us fight." I swung up onto its back.
"Everyone follow me, kill every one you see, nobody will go free," I commanded. I blew a whistle with all my force; the sound spread through the dark like a signal flare. The bison leapt forward; in that instant I named him Kragorn. He ran with all his strength, smoke-laden breath, massive feet meeting earth with a furious rhythm. He was mine now, we were one. Behind me my people ran shoulder to shoulder, a furious wave seeking vengeance for our battle-chief.
We reached the village, Kragorn crashed through the gate like the wrath of some giant. Stones and wood trembled, dust rose in clouds. Where Kragorn's bulk passed, huts collapsed and fences splintered. I dismounted and took in a scene of fear and astonishment. Facing me were about twenty armed men, their courage forming a thick barrier. I stood in the center of the square and declared, "You harmed the war-chief I sent as envoy, now your lives end." Then I surged at them.
My strikes are not wild fury but precise instruments—spears to pin, blades to finish, whistles and signals to bend my men's motion into one lethal rhythm. I use terrain, shadow and fire as tools, force opponents into choke points and deny them space.
I drove my spears with cold, precise strikes, and with my blades I fell upon them. Each move was purposeful, each blow deadly. The enemy faltered and searched for escape. I saw a man who seemed to be their leader, broad-shouldered and hardened by years. He charged at me; I knocked him down and, holding him pinned, spoke in a low, merciless voice, "I will spare you last, watch your village burn." My words hung in the square and echoed in the ears of those who listened.
As another fighter prepared to loose an arrow at me, Kragorn ran him down and smashed him underfoot. The sight brought me a grim satisfaction and deepened the binding between me and the beast. Blood covered the ground and my own arms and chest were stained, yet I seemed untouched by wounds. With Kragorn at my side we routed the village; their resistance collapsed, shouts faded, and a silence settled—cold and victorious.
My clan gathered in the square; those who had recently arrived hesitated on seeing me like that, they waited for my next move. The leaders I had forced to kneel reached out, begging for mercy. Fear and the instinct to survive were written plainly in their faces. I turned my attention to their heads bowed toward my people and shouted, "This is how it ends for those who cross us. I will protect you as best I can. This is for Cycnopy!" My words spread like a battle-cry.
With the fury in me and the power I carried, I executed the enemy leader, cutting him down in front of everyone. Reactions among the onlookers were mixed, some cheering, some horrified. "Place his head in a sack and bring it to him," I ordered, and the command was obeyed at once. I brought the sack to Kragorn and laid it beside him. The beast's eyes had changed; it no longer feared me, it did not flinch. I stroked his sweaty, bristled neck and felt an understanding deeper than words.
Night had fallen into a red line along the horizon, and I climbed back onto Kragorn's back. He stepped forward slowly, my clan trailing after us in a measured procession. The ground was crusted with dried blood, the victory branded on the earth. When we returned to the village I went straight to Cycnopy. He was conscious now, his wounds would be tended, pain still visible on his face but gratitude also shining in his eyes. He apologized to me repeatedly; I gave him the head of the enemy leader and said, "Anyone who attacks you will find me. Rest and heal."
Needing to cleanse myself, I went to the sea and plunged into the cold water. I wanted to wash away blood, sweat and ash. The water stripped the grime of battle from my skin, and the weight on my shoulders eased. Back in the village, people ate around the fires, their conversations a mixture of exhaustion and triumph.
The day's violence and vivid images filled my mind, yet much remained to be done. Tomorrow we would climb the mountain, inspect the mine and its resources, and plan how to make our clan stronger. Kragorn stood in his pen, breathing heavy but steady, watching me; he was now part of my design, part of the path I would walk. Night settled, the camp fell quiet, and I drifted into a short sleep; dawn would bring fresh trials and new opportunities.