The rest of the journey passed without incident. Gra’sha’s unit returned to the stronghold, where there was still a shortage of hands for work; therefore, the goblins, true to her promise, found a place and occupation for themselves after a short interview with the overseer responsible for this matter, while the transport of fish went straight to the clan warehouses.

  Although the chieftain did not have time to receive her report directly, his advisor Lur’tar listened to the full account and her opinion on the state of security on the route between the two allied settlements. He praised her and her unit for their efforts and ordered them to remain on standby.

  New orders were to come after the celebrations connected with the upcoming summer solstice and Ner’hur’s marriage. Two days after their return, the future spouses arrived at Wolf Rock with a delegation from Riverbend. After recent events, the clan needed a bit of a breather, and a grand celebration was supposed to provide it.

  Preparations were underway in the stronghold. The butchery worked at full capacity to prepare enough meat. Likewise, the bread ovens did not go out all day and night. On a pleasant afternoon on the eve of the festivities, Gra’sha climbed onto one of the rocky ledges above the stronghold to rest a bit from all the hubbub and look at the surroundings. To her surprise, Black, the chieftain's she-wolf, was lounging in the shadows on the rock.

  "I guess there'll be room for me too, huh?" she threw to the animal, which merely yawned lengthily, looking at her with one eye after it was done. Apparently too tired from the heat to fawn for pets.

  Heat radiated from the she-wolf's flank, so the girl lay down a little further away, resting her head on her folded arms so she could watch what was happening below. She had brought with her some mead, which she had previously cooled in the cold waters of the stream, and now she sipped it slowly.

  From this height, the toiling crowds seemed somewhat distant and less real. Before the preparations began, she had heard numerous angry voices about the necessity of retaliation against the Crescent Moon clan. Her brethren had buried the ashes of their dead, made the most necessary repairs, and apparently begun to wonder what was next. The neighbor from the north might have abandoned the siege, but he was not toothless. And the chieftain, for the time being, offered them no imminent plan for revenge. Instead, at least for a moment, he had something for everyone that could distract them for a while: a grand celebration.

  The wind and the alcohol buzzed pleasantly in her head. Under half-closed eyelids, the working figures of goblins and orcs blurred into one. Gra’sha pondered what the wise woman had told her a few days ago. She turned on her side and looked at the she-wolf. Her essence was, as always, impressive. The animal stretched, snorted, and continued dozing.

  "I'm a bit like your ancestors, maybe that's why you like my company, hmm?" she said and lightly nudged the she-wolf's rear with her foot; the animal let out a single sound of dissatisfaction.

  "Or maybe more like you yourself, since we're both in the service of the same chieftain. Though you definitely have more freedom," she expounded in a calm voice to the unmoved animal.

  "Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the trust placed in me. It's just that I was so focused on getting into the warrior caste that I didn't entirely think through what comes after," she said, then sighed, rolled over to the animal, and snuggled into its fur for a moment. However, she couldn't endure this position for long.

  "By the ancestors, you radiate heat like a blacksmith's forge, and you shed like an old soldier loses hair," she laughed and snorted, as several of the she-wolf's hairs had even stuck to her face for a moment.

  The warrior stood up and dusted herself off a bit, and her silent conversational companion answered only with a few swishes of her tail. She finished the rest of the mead and left Black in peace, but she did not return straight to the stronghold. Instead, she wandered around the area, verifying tracks and learning which ones indicate what passage of time, both by appearance and scent. To be able to rely more on these newly discovered capabilities. And in the evening, she dragged a few of the least experienced warriors from her unit for a short training session.

  "The celebration doesn't start until tomorrow!" she threw at them when they tried to object, then added, "We have orders to remain on standby, no?"

  Reluctantly, they nodded, continuing the sparring. The necessity ingrained in her to hone skills and physical prowess translated to the members of the team. She realized she wouldn't always be there to support them; she wanted them to be able to take care of themselves and the clan, even in such situations. For the sake of the following day, however, it was a brief exertion.

  She ended the day with an evening trip to the bathhouse with Sha’dru, and though they talked about tomorrow's fun, her mind was elsewhere. Her friend must have sensed it, for she interrupted her discourse on the brave face Ner’hur was trying to put on the whole situation in a not particularly convincing manner, and asked: "What are you puzzling over there, young commander?"

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  "Do you think we will ultimately march north? You know, settle the matter with those lackeys of the Shamanic Circle?"

  "You saw how many warriors they retained when they abandoned the siege; do you think we have enough forces to take their stronghold?" Sha’dru answered with a question.

  "Probably not..."

  "Indeed not, but don't let that rob you of sleep. A little bird told me that through scouts their new chieftain is undertaking talks with ours, or at least trying."

  "Even if that's true, I don't think the clan wants to make any deals," Gra’sha stated with conviction.

  "Wanting and being able to, Gra’sha. Wanting and being able to. I don't suppose we have a choice. Neither side is strong enough to overcome the other."

  "I don't know, I feel quite strong," the girl replied and flexed her back muscles, to which Sha’dru swatted her across the back with a cloth.

  "One warrior, no matter how strong, will not take a stronghold. Did that woman near Riverbend feed you such nonsense?"

  "Oh, I know, and no, that's my original, foolish thought; give it a rest already."

  "Hmm," Sha’dru doubted her friend's words, drawing out the syllable, but finally stated, "So be it." She finished her bath without mentioning another word about the shamaness, the war, or any other inflammatory topic.

  The day of the summer solstice was a major event in itself, and combined with a marriage cementing ties between two allied strongholds, it became the greatest festival Gra’sha had seen in her life.

  There was plenty of food and drink for everyone. Goblin musicians entertained the guests with their performances in several places. The entire training ground was now full of orcs from both settlements, food stalls, and ancestor totems adorned with ribbons on which intentions for the rest of the year were inscribed in simple runes.

  In the middle of the day, well-fed and in high spirits, the orcs from both clans gathered to participate in the wedding ceremony. It was a decidedly traditional rite. Holding a single spear, they made vows to each other in the presence of the clan, the elders, the chieftain, and the ancestors, after which they raised it together in a gesture of victory. Gra’sha did not stand close enough to hear them, but along with the rest, she responded with loud shouts to their raising of the weapon. Many warriors struck their spears against their shields, increasing the uproar, and a quarter of an hour later, it was all over.

  After the longest day came the shortest night. Full of singing, laughing, and dancing. If anyone was looking for a partner, it was easiest to find him or her right now. Their clan lived according to the rhythms of nature, and this night precisely opened the mating season. Lasting for the next several weeks. Gra’sha, however, as a warrior, operated in a different mode, and Mother Nature did not awaken any maternal instincts in her; therefore, her nocturnal activities ended with dances with Mal’gor, Sha’dru, and a few brethren from her unit.

  It did not escape her attention, however, that Mal and part of their company slipped away from the hearth where they had been feasting a little earlier, finding other arms to dance with, and for some, the later into the night, other activities as well. Gra’sha followed one of them with her gaze and laughed softly, then glanced at Sha’dru.

  "The clan will need many young orclings; let them go," she threw, amused, in response to her friend's look.

  This opinion was shared by Urg’hur. He counted on the fact that these few days of abundance before the festival, and the night of the solstice itself, would initiate a good mating season. In times of crop failure or threats, nature in its wisdom directed the clan's strength and attention to other things, and the number of births was miserable then. He was playing here with forces he could not control beyond striving to provide his people with a sense that everything was heading for the better and they would lack for nothing. Only time could tell if these efforts would bring the intended effect.

  Lur’tar had other plans for this night, but he and a few other warriors were still sitting at the chieftain's in the hall, slowly wrapping up the planning for the coming weeks. He hoped to still snatch something from this night, which caused his thoughts to drift somewhat from the current thread, a fact that did not escape Urg’hur's attention.

  "Remind us, Lur’tar, how many goblins did Gra’sha's unit herd to us?"

  "What? Ah, yes, slightly over a dozen capable of work, with offspring. They were vetted and taken into the clan's service, Chieftain," he replied, masking his embarrassment.

  "That's exactly what I'm talking about! We need such initiatives. We've lost too many clansmen. If we are to rebuild our potential, we need more goblins for work; let other units follow her example," Urg’hur declared, then added toward the old overseer, "Dur’var, what's the situation with the volunteers?"

  "As you wished, Chieftain, I sifted out all the female volunteers of appropriate age except for the two most outstanding ones, who are a waste for the mating season; before a year passes, they will be excellent warriors," the overseer of volunteers replied with respect.

  The chieftain only nodded in satisfaction. The rest had clearly had enough of the council, and everyone looked at each other, waiting for who would be the first to propose finishing up. Unfortunately for them, Urg’hur spoke up again.

  "Do we know yet who this Bar’nar is, whether he is trustworthy? Have the scouts returned yet?"

  "No, Chieftain. As soon as they return, I will give you a full report of their observations; it still takes time..." the commander of the guard explained, but Urg’hur interrupted him with a wave of his hand, not wanting to hear excuses.

  "Fine, you are dismissed. Enjoy the rest of the night," he declared and was the first to rise from the table himself. The rest followed his example and did the same, rushing out of the hall at a brisk pace in case he changed his mind. Urg’hur was too old to put faith in assurances of a desire for talks and negotiations from the enemy in the north; before answering the proposals, he intended to gather information using his own methods, but this waiting irritated him. As never before, he felt that time was the one thing he did not have in abundance.