With Thorsten keeping Serrandyl occupied, Ebonheim left to pursue the other beastkin. She dashed through the village, dodging between the houses as she tracked the footsteps of the raiders.

One such thief had acquired an impressively fat pig, and was struggling to keep a hold of the squirming animal. Ebonheim watched the scene unfold for a moment, then stifled a giggle at the sight. This one, bulky and brute-ish, seemed to meet his match in the surprisingly agile pig. It squirmed and squealed, its hooves skittering across the ground as it endeavored to evade capture.

Ebonheim couldn't help but smile at the scene: as he stumbled forward, attempting to keep his balance as he wrestled with the pig, he fell flat on his face, the pig atop him. His voice trailed off into an unintelligible mumble before he turned his head to glare at the pig. It snorted in reply before turning tail and scampering away.

Ebonheim stepped into view and asked, "Are you quite done?"

At the sound of her voice, his head shot up—Ebonheim noted a torn patch on his right ear—his gaze wide with surprise as he took in her form. "Huh? Why you..." he managed to spit out before he launched himself at her with a ferocious howl. Ebonheim dodged to the side and planted a swift kick in his side, sending him sprawling to the ground.

"Stop," Ebonheim said as she stood over him, "And turn yourself in." She focused her will, and one of her tree sentinels emerged from behind a house to scoop the prone beastkin and trapped him in its clutches.

Ebonheim spotted another raider in the corner of her vision. Unlike the others, he did not seem surprised by her powers; instead, a defiant look had settled on his face. He was trying to hoist a wriggling goat over his broad shoulder, ignoring the bleating protest from the distressed animal.

“Hey!” Ebonheim called, walking towards him. Her gold eyes danced with a mischievous glint. “That doesn’t belong to you!”

He turned his attention towards her, and for a moment, there was a silent standoff between them, a clash of wills communicated through gazes alone. His expression did not waver, but neither did Ebonheim's.

[Divine Ability: Charm Animals (Rank II) activated]

Deciding to engage with her playful side, Ebonheim issued a low whistle, and from the nearby shrubbery, a cluster of squirrels darted out. Their tiny bodies dashed towards him, their path marked by a flurry of rustling leaves.

The sudden onslaught of squirrels took the beastkin by surprise. The goat seized this opportunity to wiggle its way out of his loosened grip. It took off running towards the herd, its 'maa' echoing in the cool night. He watched in utter bewilderment as the squirrels scampered up his legs and body, their little claws tickling as they moved.

Ebonheim giggled, watching him stumble and swat at the cheeky critters. His mighty roars were replaced by squawks of surprise as the squirrels chittered and ran circles around him.

Once her furry allies completed their mission, they scattered back into the undergrowth, leaving a flustered and goatless beastkin behind. The village folk watched the spectacle with wide-eyed amusement, a ripple of laughter echoing through the scene.

As Ebonheim approached the humiliated beastkin, her laughter still clinging to the edges of her voice, she told him, “My village is not a pantry for you to raid whenever you please. You should remember that for the future.”

Ebonheim waved her hand; her tree sentinel grabbed him by his feet before dragging him away with a yelp.

How many more of them did she have to capture, anyway? And how much longer would this take? Ebonheim sighed as she continued her journey through the village, stopping briefly at one corner to repel a boar that had snuck into someone's home. She spotted another group of raiders engaged in a struggle against the village's guards.

Fortunately, the guards outnumbered them—and with the raiders' hands full trying to wrangle their stolen goods, it was easy enough for the guards to subdue them. Ebonheim moved in to lend her aid and help subdue the raiders, but one of the guards motioned her to stop.

"Please wait," the guard said, "we've got this, goddess. Thank you!"

Ebonheim sighed—she didn't like standing idly by, but she also didn't want to embarrass the guard if he was right and she needed to back off. "Okay," she replied. "Just be careful."

After a brief conversation with one of the guards, the guard motioned to a few others, and they escorted the subdued raiders to a holding area near the feast hall.

Ebonheim watched them leave, then continued her journey through the village. Soon enough, she spotted another raider trying to steal another goat from a small herd, a small girl clutching onto its tail in a bid to keep hold of the creature.

Ebonheim blinked in surprise—why was there a little girl here? Wait—was she alone? Where were her parents?

The beastkin thief, oblivious to Ebonheim's presence, was busy trying to pull the goat out of the girl's arms without hurting her. After a few fruitless moments, he tried to pry the girl off the goat; a frightened squeal and a flailing arm in response left him stumbling to the ground in surprise.

Ebonheim rushed over, scooping the little girl into her arms. "Are you alright?" she asked as the girl clung to her.

"I saw him trying to take the goat away." The little girl sniffed as she held her hand against her cheek, tears brimming in her eyes.

Ebonheim smiled at her, then looked back up at the beastkin. "You've done enough," she said, her voice carrying an edge of sternness. "Just surrender and tell your people to bring back what they've stolen."

The beastkin managed to pull himself off the ground with a grunt, shaking his head—but this time Ebonheim didn't give him the chance to reply. As he rose to his feet, Ebonheim called on her divine power once more and conjured vines and roots from the ground, holding him in place while her tree sentinel emerged from behind a nearby building to restrain him.

With another sigh, Ebonheim turned to the little girl and gave her a warm smile, "Come on, let's get you back to your parents. I'm sure they're worried."

After making sure the child was safe in the arms of her family, Ebonheim continued on her way. She spotted a few more raiders carrying off more livestock while being pursued by other guardsmen.

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Ebonheim's figure rippled with an inner light, and her hand gently swept the air before her. Beneath the startled thieves, vines surged from the ground, wrapping around their limbs and dragging them down. Branches snapped out like the arms of an angry parent, snatching away their stolen goods and swatting them on the heads. The results were comically instantaneous. One burly beastkin tripped over a suddenly pert vine, his arms flailing in the air as he tumbled headfirst into a large bush, his hindquarters adorned with a fluttering chicken.

"Come now," Ebonheim chided, her voice laced with a gentle amusement as she beheld the spectacle. "Did you really think you could just take what you wanted?"

Squawking hens and bleating goats were flung into the air, only to be caught by leafy tendrils and gently deposited back into their pens. Burly men with bags of grain and loaves of bread were halted by an insurgence of foliage, their curses silenced by a loaf stuffed into their gaping mouths by overzealous branches. The scene was filled with resounding thuds, echoing roars, and the sporadic crunch of underbrush under the feet of the beastkin attempting to flee.

"Alright, who's next?" Ebonheim asked her question to the open air, but her piercing gold eyes were already scanning her surroundings.

From the corner of her eye, she spotted another group, clumsily hauling a large pig between them. With a shrug and a dramatic flick of her wrist, she summoned forth a twine of vines that surged towards the would-be pork thieves. However, the poor pig, frightened by the sudden eruption of greenery, broke free from the startled beastkin and bolted away. They fell over each other in a jumble of limbs, their collective cries piercing the night.

Ebonheim stifled a giggle as she watched them struggle to right themselves. The guards who had been following the thieves soon arrived to capture them.

Yet just as Ebonheim was beginning to truly relish the scene, she spotted a pair of thieves attempting to roll a large wheel of cheese towards the outskirts of the village. Despite the serious nature of the intrusion, the sight of them struggling with an oversized cheese was too comical to ignore.

"They really are trying to take everything, aren't they?" Ebonheim wondered aloud, her voice filled with amusement as she summoned another bout of vines beneath the cheese rollers. With a startled yelp, they toppled over backwards and fell into a tumble, their precious cheese rolling away.

Meanwhile, the vines intended for the beastkin found their new purpose in catching the runaway cheese. With a quick wrap, they secured the wheel, preventing it from rolling further into the chaos of the raid. A cheer echoed from the nearby villagers who had been watching the spectacle unfold, and Ebonheim, finding herself the center of attention, gave a small curtsy.

As the cheering died down, she spotted two more thieves—a male and a female—lugging a basket of produce between them; the female spotted her and nudged her companion's shoulder before gesturing towards her with a jerk of her chin.

The male glanced in Ebonheim's direction before giving the basket to the female and breaking into a run, causing the female to scream obscenities at him. Ebonheim turned to follow him as he disappeared down a dark alley between a pair of houses—the sound of his footsteps echoed as he fled deeper into the village. As Ebonheim began to give chase, one of her tree sentinels snatched the female beastkin while she was too dumbstruck to act and held her in its grasp along with the others it captured.

Ebonheim raced along the dirt trails, her luminous eyes scouring the darkness for any signs of the escapee. Finally, she spotted him in the distance, dashing down a pathway near the village's perimeter.

"Stop!" she cried out, but he paid her no mind—his feet pounding across the ground as he struggled to escape. Ebonheim dashed after him, her aura shimmering with light. She focused her will and linked her essence with the surrounding trees, the verdant pathways manifesting themselves in her mind as she jumped into a nearby oak tree—emerging in an instant through a tree in front of the fleeing beastkin.

At her sudden appearance, he skidded to a stop, his face a mask of confusion and surprise as he stared up at her.

She wasted no time and entangled him with more of her vines before he could run again. "Oh, come now," she began, a small giggle on her lips, "you can't just run away!"

Still bound in Ebonheim's roots, he glared at her as she approached him, then let out a sigh of defeat as he surrendered himself to his fate.

"That's better," she said with a smile, "I don't like having to chase you all over the village." Another of her guardian trees approached to pick up the fallen raider and hauled him back towards the center of the village—he let out a yelp and struggled against its clutches. Ebonheim let out a small laugh and turned away from the spectacle.

More beastkin still scattered in every direction, arms laden with goods, livestock being hauled away in frantic haste. Ebonheim dashed after them, catching up with them as they fled toward the forest edge.

She planted her feet firmly on the ground and raised her hands, palms facing the moonlit sky. Power thrummed in her veins, connecting her to every root and branch, every leaf and blade of grass within her reach. She whispered to them, the undercurrent of her voice holding an urgency she seldom used. Her domain answered, its loyalty unwavering.

The response was immediate. From the ground, walls of vegetation erupted around the fleeing raiders, boxing them in. Trees bowed low to catch those who attempted to scale the barriers, their branches entwining to form an impenetrable net. Roots erupted from the ground, snagging feet and tripping them, causing them to sprawl over each other in a pile of limbs, furs, and startled yelps.

Ebonheim's voice rang out, clear and commanding. "Drop what you have stolen, and you will be released unharmed." The captive beastkin exchanged uneasy glances, their eyes wide with apprehension. But stubborn pride still glinted in some of their expressions, and Ebonheim sighed. This was going to be trickier than she'd thought.

A sheep, scared and confused, let out a plaintive bleat from within the arms of a burly beastkin. Ebonheim's gaze softened at the sound, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Let’s start with the sheep, shall we? Please put them down gently."

After a bit of coaxing and a few more vines sprouting from the ground for emphasis, they began to reluctantly release the terrified livestock. Each animal was gently put down, the hens flapped their wings and squawked, the sheep bleated in indignation and the stolen crops were reluctantly dropped from shaking hands. Ebonheim found herself lecturing the beastkin on the ethics of theft, her tone that of a disappointed school teacher. This, she thought with an internal chuckle, was probably not how most gods would handle a raid.

Finally, as the last sheep was released from its captors' embrace and scampered off into the darkness, Ebonheim considered the captured raiders. They sat in a disheveled heap on the ground, their eyes downcast in a mixture of shame and indignation. She could almost see them mentally debating on whether to break free from their bonds.

"Come on," she said, her voice lighter now, "that's enough of the fighting."

A chorus of groans and grumbles echoed in reply.

More guards arrived and bound the raiders with rope, then escorted them back to the village square to await judgment. Ebonheim and her trio of tree sentinels followed suit. A small crowd gathered at the scene—with more villagers emerging from their homes—each face filled with equal parts shock and relief.

As she waited for the crowd to gather, Ebonheim's attention wandered over to Thorsten approaching with Serrandyl slung over his broad shoulder.

"They've all been rounded up," Thorsten said, "not an ounce of food or supplies left in their little hands."

Ebonheim nodded in reply, then turned her gaze to the beastkin leader, her expression somber as she studied Serrandyl's face. "Is she alright?" she asked.

Thorsten nodded in reply. "Aye, lass," he began, his voice solemn, "just a few bruises for her troubles." A smile crept onto his face as he added with a chuckle, "This one's strong." He sat her down with her captured companions before letting go of her.

Serrandyl slumped to the ground, her breathing labored as she rubbed her wrists—Thorsten's grip had left dark bruises on her skin. A large bruise and a bloody nose marred her face—witnesses described Thorsten punching her in the face when she refused to stop fighting him.

Ebonheim regarded Serrandyl with a disapproving frown, but said nothing, choosing instead to focus on the task at hand. A short time later, Engin, Hilda, and the other village elders arrived and made their way towards the captives. They stopped beside Ebonheim and took turns studying each beastkin's face.

"Now then," Engin started, his voice gruff. His sleepwear was disheveled and tufts of his gray hair stuck out wildly. "It's time for us to talk."