The council circle was heavy with tension when Zaruko entered. The early morning sun cast long shadows between the ancient stones where the tribe's leaders gathered, but the light did little to brighten the mood.
Voices rose and fell in heated debate.
Elder Koma's hand slammed the carved wooden table. "Building the holdfast so far from the village risks everything. Our people will be divided—scattered like dust before the wind."
Another elder, Jala, countered sharply, "If we do not build far, we leave ourselves vulnerable. The enemy watches. They will strike where we are weakest."
Maela stood near the edge, her eyes steady as she spoke up. "The families near the construction site must be cared for. We cannot sacrifice their wellbeing for walls and stone."
Her words earned a mix of nods and guarded looks.
Bakari's voice cut through the murmurs. "Discipline is our shield. The workers, the warriors—they must understand this is no longer a village, but a fortress in the making."
The room fell silent for a moment before murmurs rose again—some uneasy, some supportive.
Zaruko lifted his hand. "We build not because we want war, but because we must survive it. There is no weakness in preparation."
He looked at each face in turn, feeling the cracks in his leadership like cold wind against skin.
Outside, the holdfast site buzzed with relentless activity.
Villagers hauled heavy stones up rugged slopes, their hands calloused and backs bent beneath the weight. The air was thick with dust and sweat.
Children followed elders closely, learning the trades—carrying small bundles of tools, sweeping dust from workspaces, and offering water to the weary.
Maela moved among them, her voice calm but firm. "Rest now. Eat well. Tomorrow we work stronger."
She distributed rations, watching the faces of those who looked exhausted but resolute.
Injuries began to mount—a twisted ankle here, a bleeding cut there—but the village healers worked tirelessly, their hands steady even as fatigue crept into their bones.
Tensions under the surface rose as the days passed.
Whispers spread: some questioned Zaruko's growing authority, others feared the tribe's resources were stretched too thin.
Arguments over grain supplies and manpower erupted in corners of the village, threatening the fragile unity.
Maela found herself mediating disputes as often as tending wounds.
She confided to Zaruko one evening, "If we fracture now, the enemy will find us broken."
He nodded, the weight of leadership heavier than ever. "Then we hold fast—not just with walls, but with each other."
One morning, as dawn painted the sky in pale pink, a figure approached the council circle—a young woman cloaked in forest greens, eyes sharp and alert.
"I am Lina," she announced quietly. "Scout and healer from the neighboring clan of Kosi. I bring word of the enemy's movements."
Some council members exchanged wary glances.
Maela stepped forward. "We welcome her knowledge. Our strength grows when we unite."
Lina nodded. "They gather beyond the eastern ridges, preparing for a march unlike any before. Their numbers are large, their intent clear."
The council fell into a heavy silence.
That night, away from the watchful eyes of the village, Zaruko and Maela shared a quiet moment beneath the stars.
She reached for his hand. "Do you ever fear the weight of all this?"
He looked at her, exhaustion etched into his face. "Every day. But with you beside me, the weight feels lighter."
Her voice was soft but steady. "We face what comes—together."
He pulled her close, their breaths mingling in the cool night air.
At the eastern watchtower, scouts returned with grave news.
The signs were clear: a great force was moving through the shadowed forests.
No battle cries yet. No direct attack.
But the shadow of the enemy loomed near.
Zaruko stood at the village's edge, gazing toward the horizon.
"The Mouth waits," he said, voice low but fierce. "But Kan Ogou will meet it head-on."
The night was unusually still. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
From the ridge beyond the holdfast, Zaruko's scouts spotted flickers of movement—shadows slipping through the trees just beyond sight.
A patrol led by Toma moved silently to intercept.
They found signs of intrusion—trampled crops, broken branches, and a hastily abandoned campfire still faintly smoldering.
Suddenly, a flash of steel caught the moonlight.
A brief, sharp clash erupted between the scouts and a small band of masked warriors—silent and swift, but fierce.
Toma's group fought hard but wisely, holding their ground without pursuit.
The enemy slipped back into the forest, leaving behind a single carved bone marked with the same red symbol that had haunted their dreams.
Breathing heavy, Toma returned to camp, the first blood spilled but no lives lost.
Back at Kan Ogou, the skirmish was a stark reminder: the larger threat was no longer distant.
The Mouth was near—and it was hungry.
Zaruko met with the council once more, his gaze hard.
"We cannot wait for war. It has already come in whispers and shadows."
The tribe's resolve hardened.
The foundation they laid was no longer just stone and mortar.
It was a promise: Kan Ogou would stand.
The firelight flickered across the faces gathered in the council circle, shadows dancing with unease.
Toma's voice was steady but heavy. "They tested us tonight. A small force—swift, silent, deadly. They meant to send a message."
Bakari slammed his fist on the table. "A warning? Or a challenge. We can't let this go unanswered."
Maela's gaze met Zaruko's. "Retaliation without preparation risks everything. We must be smart."
Zaruko stood, the weight of command pressing down. "This skirmish shows the Mouth's reach. They probe for weakness. We must strengthen our defenses—not just with walls, but with vigilance and unity."
Outside, the village stirred under the watchful eyes of the warriors. Fires burned brighter, and patrols doubled.
Maela moved among the people, comforting a mother whose son had been part of Toma's patrol. Fear clung to her words, but so did fierce pride.
Zaruko found Maela later by the forge, where the blast furnace still glowed faintly.
"You carry too much," she said softly.
He shook his head. "I carry what must be carried."
She reached out, taking his hand. "Then let me carry some of it with you."
In that quiet moment, amid the hum of industry and the sharp scent of molten metal, hope flickered alongside fear.
The Mouth was coming.
But Kan Ogou was ready to fight—not just for survival, but for the future they were building together.