The night air was fraught with tension as the battle raged on, wildings clashing against Gobin's determined men. Amidst the chaos, a sound cut through the fray like a clarion call. It was the blast of a horn, resonating through the frigid air and piercing the fog of combat. Gobin's eyes, bloodshot and blazing with adrenaline, snapped toward the source of the sound.

"That...That's the horn?" Gobin's voice was raw, his brow furrowed with urgency. His heart pounded in his chest as he recognized the signal – the call to return to their posts. With a fierce determination, he waded into the tumultuous struggle, hacking and slashing at the wildings before him.

"Awoo! Awoo! Awoo!" Gobin's voice rose above the tumult, a primal howl that pierced the night. His shout echoed the call for the dogs and the rallying cry for the rest of his riders. The dogs, having tasted enough of the fray, fled the battlefield, leaving behind a trail of wounded wildings.

Broken hands and feet lay splattered across the white snow leaving a bloody print.

Across the field, snow bears that had been scattered amidst the wildings' ranks began to stir. One by one, they sprinted back to the safety of the outpost, their massive forms thundering through the snow.

Each bear's throaty roar blended with the chorus of barking dogs, creating a symphony of chaos that sent shivers down the spines of the wildings who wanted to attack the retreating army.

In the midst of the confusion, Gobin's heart swelled with relief as the ranks of snow bears and dogs made their way back to the safety of the outpost. "Carl, Rudolph, Matt, Bronx… Yes, ha ha ha! Everyone's accounted for!" Gobin's voice rang out with a mixture of triumph and relief.

The trio of warriors who had remained behind to guard the outpost counted the returning soldiers, their expressions shifting from anxiety to elation as each familiar face emerged from the darkness.

"Bring the animals back to their sheds. Tend to the dogs' wounds and give 'em a good rubdown. And rest, everyone, back to your posts. The wildings won't dare to challenge us for a while."

Gobin's voice held a note of reassurance, a soothing balm to their frayed nerves.

As Gobin shed his battle-worn armour, his shoulders sagged with exhaustion. The battle had been fierce, a whirlwind of speed and reflexes, and the aftermath was etched in the weary lines of his face. The snow bears had been their salvation, their allies in the night's dark dance of death.

The soldiers, too, cast off their armour, the clatter of metal filling the air as they adhered to their age-old post-battle ritual. They wiped away sweat and gore, cleansing themselves of the horrors they had just faced. It was a moment of solace, a quiet interlude where the tensions of the night began to dissipate.

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Deep into the night, an army of 120 men and women from Bear Islands along with 200 warriors from the ‘new people’ were huddled together to keep warm. They had walked and ran for a long time today and on these frozen icy grounds, the only way to keep warm is to huddle together.

For these 200 warriors, killing a free folk, someone like themselves from the true north, might have been an issue but when it came to the ice-river clans, they were more than ready.

Ice-river clans have repeatedly terrorized the other two clans – the Walrus Clan and the Great Antler Clan in past. They would steal their hunt or loot their items while also killing their men and women and eating them like animals.

These monsters were not free folks but cannibal beasts. The Walrus and Antler clans hated these monsters and they had many small or big wars between them.

At some distance, Lady Maege was resting on her sledge while covered in thick furs. No matter how hard she tried, sleep evaded her eyes. For once, she wished she could skin change and turn into some bird and fly directly to their outpost.

Maybe she could bring some help. Maybe…

Time was not on the side and they were running and covering long distances every day. However, even with their top speed, they need a minimum of five days. Five days…..

“Old Gods will not close their eyes. Old Gods won’t abandon us….” Lady Maege kept praying and consoling her restless heart while turning and changing her position.

It was impossible to sleep but her body needed rest. Just like the soldiers.

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"Camy," a voice broke through the tension, and his gaze turned to the messenger who stood before him.

"What's the count?" Camy's voice was a weary rumble, weariness etched into the lines of his face.

"Seventy-six fallen," the messenger replied, his words heavy with the weight of the news.

Camy's breath caught in his throat as the reality of their losses settled in. Seventy-six lives, gone in the blink of an eye, their blood staining the snow and soil. His heart clenched, a mixture of grief and fury bubbling within him.

"And the wounded?" Camy's voice held a tinge of dread as he awaited the answer.

"One hundred and twenty-four, sir. Many of them won't make it without treatment," the messenger's voice quivered, his words a sombre dirge for those who teetered on the edge of life and death.

Camy closed his eyes, a wave of desolation crashing over him. The battle had been a devastating blow, one that threatened to shatter the unity of the river clan tribes. Their spirits had been dampened, their bravado diminished by the merciless onslaught of the snow bears and their fearsome riders.

"Summon the chiefs," Camy ordered, his voice heavy with resignation. "We must convene before making any decisions."

The chiefs gathered, their faces etched with anger and blame as they traded accusations and grievances. But beneath the discordant notes of their arguments, a shared determination emerged. Despite the losses, despite the bitter taste of defeat, their spirits remained unbroken.

With his ambition ruthlessly trampled upon by snow bears and the courage bitten by the wild dogs, Camy knew he had lost the general support of the river clan tribes and he needed to consult the chiefs.

Without their consent, the war will be over before it even began.

The chiefs sat together while cursing and spitting on the next person and blaming their loss and failure on their head.

However, even with these losses, their morale was far from bottoming out and they still wanted to fight for these lands.

Since there are so many dead and wounded, then they will celebrate a feast, eat these waste men and women and then fight a grand battle to avenge their fallen.

> "We feast tomorrow, and we prepare for war. Let the snow bears and their riders revel in their victory for now. But tomorrow, we rise again, axes raised and spirits unyielding."

Camy's voice cut through the tumult, his words a rallying cry that ignited a renewed spark of resolve within the hearts of the assembled chiefs.