The settlement buzzed like a smoked bee’s hive, orcs where scrambling in every direction. Pitched tents came down quickly in hasty folds as younglings frantically tied sleeping furs into clumsy bundles. Everyone was shoving a belonging or two into crude sacks, with jaws clenched tight as grunts filled the air like a brewing storm.

  Knez stood off to the side, the chaos assaulting his senses in relentless waves. He heard each labored breath, every ragged inhale spiked with fear and the familiar scent of acrid sweat beading on green hides. Voices cracked with anxiety when they broke the frenzy: "Hurry up!" His mind observed it all involuntarily—the way panic quickened steps, causing hands to tremble nonstop—the situation twisted his frustration into a sharp edge. He took a deep breath, an attempt to regain composure 'we shouldn't live like this,' he thought, as a bitter knot tightened in his gut. 'Chased like animals, always running.' 'This can't be right.'

  As soon as he finished that line of thought, silence fell like a dropped blade.

  The scrambling stopped; sacks slung over shoulders, the remnants of the tribe—barely two dozen souls, mostly wide-eyed younglings and weary females—stood ready. All eyes locked on him, expectant, unblinking. In orc ways, the strongest claimed the lead with fists and strength. But when a chief fell outside a proper challenge—like his father in the raid—his bloodline took on the mantle until some tusked fool tested its legitimacy. Harg had eyed the role, his bulk and strength marking him as a potential contender, but the forest kill had rattled him more than he would care to admit. Knez's spear, swift and sure, had proven he wasn't decapitated by his injury. No challenges came, atleast for now.

  So there he stood, unprepared, all eyes on him, as the reality of his role in the group weighed heavy like a mountain pressing down against his shoulders.

  He looked around hoping that someone would come and take the responsibility of leading the tribe away from him; he had purposely avoided any talks of leadership for the past few days and no one forced the matter, no one was in the right state of mind, as they where all mourning the losses of loved ones but that was then, now; now they needed, no, rather they demanded responsibility and leadership.

  Knez closed his eyes, coming to terms with this reality, mentally accepting his role as the new chief, at the same time the heartache that plauged him for weeks seemed to ease into dust as a gust of wind grazed through the trees surrounding the camp site, the ruffling of leaves and branches replacing the silence. Behind them sprawled Vardian lands—only death awaited there. North led deeper into Skarven, toward bustling human settlements. Southeast it was, then—traveling along the kingdom's edges, hugging the fringes where shadows hid better. Guts and instinct had guided chiefs before him, but with lives depending on his decision, that wouldn't do. His mind screamed for more: maps of terrain, kingdom borders, hidden pathways. He needed knowledge, not hunches.

  He moved towards the tribe members who all made way for him to pass through, his steps heavy and confident, as he reached Mother Ural at the back where she stood. Ural was the eldest member of the group, her skin where wrinkled like old leather, dulled from age, she had raised this batch—including knez. In orc society, mating seasons came fierce; young females conceived and gave birth, then promptly handed the infants over to elders like her for nurturing. This enabled them to heal quickly, ready to breed again come next season—anything to swell their dwindling numbers against the world's onslaught. Ural wasn't blood-mother, but she'd been the one to bash sense into them with steady hands, teaching survival's lesson.

  She glanced up as he approached, her eyes narrowing under a furrowed brow. "What do you want, young-chief? Are we movin' or not'?"

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  Knez grunted, falling in step beside her. "Need your wisdom, Mother." Ural looked at him geniuly surprised, but the young orc was more interested in her response than her expressions "Lands ahead—beyond Skarven. What's awaits us? Are there any safe paths? And what about human settlements on the way?"

  Ural snorted, continuing to chew on a twig. "Hmmm, why do you ask? You never bothered before—alwayed charged into everything blind, fists first”. She coughed violently, “What changed boy?”. She wheezed in between breaths trying to steady herself again.

  Knez's head throbbed as he pounded over the question, “I.. I have been, seeing too much?" he managed to respond unsure if that truly described his condition.

  The old orc smiled. "Too much hmm? Leadin is always heavy—you just feel it sharper." She paused briefly looking ahead, "Skarven is a snake pit. Southeast keeps us hidden—wild woods, fewer humans. But push too far and you hit the huge waters, streaching as far as the eyes can see; a big human settlement lies at its edge, guarded by shiny warriors. Other smaller human settlements also dot close to the water edges, fat with grain but also crawlin' with soldiers." She massaged her forehead, slowly turning her gaze upwards towards the sky, "Your father.... once spoke of a pass hidden at the Tavan mountain range two seasons ago. Good for safe crossing and hidin he said."

  Knez nodded, his mind latching onto her words like hooks. "And kingdoms beyond Skarven?"

  She laughed at his question, easing the tensions a bit. "You're thinkin' too far, child? But beyond the Tavan mountains lies Garth kingdom, worse than Vardian. Humans spread like rot, if they find us." She paused, shaking her head, and eyed him. "Lead strong, Ta Knez," she pointed to the ground "focus on what lies before you first."

  The words settled heavy, the tribe's eyes still burning into him as they observed his interaction with mother Ural. Knez straightened, his head humming, blending her wisdom with his instincts into something sharper—visualizing the paths ahead. "Southeast it is," he bellowed, voice carrying forth like thunder. "Let's move out!"

  The group lurched forward, in a straight line snaking into the trees—a young female muttering "Finally" under her breath. As they vanished into the underbrush.

  They had only traveled for a few hours before the sound of a distant horn echoed ahead, faint but ominous. Knez turned toward the sound; riding toward them was an orc hunting group of five, unlike theirs, they where made up of matured warriors with deep scars on their bodies. Knez and his tribe knew what that meant—even orcs tribes fought amongst each other to preserve exclusive access to scarce resources and gain more females to swell tribe numbers. Knez, understanding what was about to unfold, wanted to make a run for safety leaving every orc to fend for themselves, but something stopped him, it was something he knew far too well, pain and regret, he wasn't about to experience last week disaster all over again.

  He turned to Harg. Who was arguably the strongest in the group, walking up to him he took off his necklace, which he had made out of the arrowhead that had pierced his skull during the raid, and shapely stuffed it into the hand of his surprised kin. "Brother, I leave the tribe in your care till I return. Follow the old paths with Mother Ural's guidance and lead 'em to the hideout in the Tavan mountains. I'll reunite with you there."

  Harg was deeply moved by the words he heard; he didn't know what Knez was planning to do but given the circumstances it wouldn't be something safe, any remaining resolve he harboured to challenge him for the chieftaincy crumbled in that instant. He whispered, "Will you be able to hold 'em off?"

  Knez smiled, turning toward the approaching group. "Lead 'em away, brother, I can only stall the warriors for so long"

  Harg nodded, quickly giving him his own necklace in exchange—a rough piece carved from five fangs. "I will await your return." Knez accepted it, a gesture of loyalty and friendship, prompting Harg to switch gears, hastily leading the remnants away. Some lingered behind the group before giving in to their instinct to save themselves. The approaching warriors where now upon him.

  Knez tightened his grip on his spear which he held firmly in his right hand and his father's ank in his left—a furry coat of many colors that signifies the rank of chief in an orc tribe. He stood still, quietly staring forward as the air thickened with dust.