I stepped back, squinting at our handiwork. The wall was beginning to take shape, the logs now forming a substantial barrier. But it wasn't enough. It was a good start, but we needed more hands if we were to complete it in a reasonable timeframe.

"We've done well, but we could use more people," I admitted, flexing my stiff fingers.

Joran, panting slightly from the exertion, nodded in agreement. "This is enough for now. We need to rest, eat something, and warm up."

Brin, however, didn't seem to share our opinion. "There's still a lot to be done," he argued, glancing at the setting sun. "I want to get as much done as possible before night falls."

Odhran chuckled, his gray eyes twinkling with amusement. "You're ambitious, Brin, but even if we worked through the night, we wouldn't be done with this anytime soon."

"I agree with Joran," I added, stretching my aching muscles. "A break is in order. We need it."

They all finally agreed, and we left the unfinished wall behind, heading towards the warmth and comfort of the fire pit in our homes.

With a final glance at the steadily growing wall, I broke away from the group and made my way towards the healing hut. The distinct smell of herbs and a certain calmness that lingered around the place was comforting.

Inside, Maeve and Zulu were at a corner, their curious eyes on Kiera. My mother, Aisling, was busy preparing some herbal mixture in a corner.

"How's she doing?" I asked, approaching my siblings. Maeve turned towards me, her blue eyes filled with worry.

"She doesn't seem well, Tak. She's been quiet all this while," she confessed. Zulu nodded in agreement, his small hands fidgeting.

I moved closer, observing the woman. She was awake but seemed lost in her thoughts. Her tribal marking stood out more in the light of the hut.

"Mother will know what to do," I assured them, hoping I sounded more confident than I felt. We were in unfamiliar territory, and I couldn't shake off the feeling of uncertainty that seemed to cloud everything.

"Aisling," I called out softly, drawing my mother's attention away from the herbs she was grinding.

"Yes, Tak?" she replied, her fingers pausing their work as she turned to face me.

I gestured towards Kiera, "Has there been any change?"

Aisling's brow furrowed in thought. "She's stable, but it's hard to tell without understanding her language. Her body language shows fear, but she's also starting to trust us a bit more."

Zulu looked up, his small voice cutting through the thick air. "Can we make her feel more at home, Tak?"

I glanced at him, a smile tugging at my lips. Trust Zulu to come up with such an idea. It was an innocent thought but held so much weight. I nodded, "We can certainly try, little brother."

A determined look crossed Maeve's face as she chimed in, "Then let's do it! Maybe if she feels more comfortable, she might open up more. It's worth a shot, right?"

I looked at Aisling, who was regarding us with a thoughtful expression. After a moment, she nodded. "You might be onto something, children. Let's try to make Kiera feel welcome in our village."

I could tell she was worried, but her trust in our plan was evident.

As we began to consider ways to make Kiera feel more comfortable, I remembered the grim news I had yet to share. My stomach churned as I took a deep breath. "Mother," I began, my voice barely more than a whisper, "Odhran told us something... distressing."

Aisling's hands stilled once more, her eyes meeting mine with a concerned gaze. "What is it, Tak?"

"Odhran... he told us that the scouts found more of Kiera's people, the Wulani."

Understanding flashed in her eyes, but she remained silent, prompting me to continue.

"They found them... but they're not alive," I said, my voice catching slightly on the last word. The weight of what I was sharing sank heavily into the air of the small healing hut.

Maeve's eyes widened in horror, and Zulu's face fell. Aisling blinked slowly, absorbing the news. "Dead?" she echoed, her voice soft and filled with sorrow. "How did this happen?"

"I'm not sure," I admitted, "Odhran said that it looked like wild animals may have gotten to them. But they don't know for sure."

The room fell into a heavy silence, the news casting a shadow over us. The Wulani, Kiera's people, drove us from our home and we viewed them as an enemy. However, they were victims of some unknown danger, just like us.

"We still don't know what happened exactly," I added, "Mako wants us to continue building the defensive wall, but we need to keep trying to communicate with Kiera."

Aisling sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly as she looked over at the Wulani woman who was now watching us quietly, her eyes wide and alert. "You're right, Tak," she said after a moment. "We need to understand more about what happened to her people."

She turned to Maeve and Zulu, forcing a reassuring smile onto her face. "But for now, we need to focus on what we can do to help Kiera feel safe. That's our priority."

Zulu nodded, his face determined. "I'll find some soft furs for her to sleep on," he declared, already heading towards the entrance.

"And I'll gather some fresh berries from the bush near the stream," Maeve chimed in, following her brother's lead.

As my siblings darted out of the hut, a moment of quiet fell between my mother and me. "Tak," she said, her voice barely audible, "be careful. We don't know what dangers are out there."

"I will, Mother," I assured her, feeling a wave of warmth for the woman who had raised us in this unforgiving wilderness. She was right, of course. We didn't know what had happened to the Wulani, and until we did, we had to tread cautiously.

Kiera's voice broke through the silence, her foreign words reverberating through the healing hut. She was sitting up in her bed now, her eyes wide and intense. "Boren-chaka tola ni-ke," she said, her tone filled with an urgency we couldn't comprehend.

"Kiera?" I asked, moving closer to her. "I... I don't understand. I'm sorry." I knew she was trying to tell us something important, but her language remained a frustrating barrier.

She was gesturing now, her hand circling the air before pointing towards the entrance of the hut. She repeated the words again, "Boren-chaka tola ni-ke," her voice filled with a fervor that stirred my curiosity.

"I wish I knew what you're trying to tell us," I said, feeling a tinge of frustration. It wasn't just a language barrier that separated us, but an entire cultural one as well. Their customs, their ways of life, and their understanding of the world could be so different from ours. But we needed to understand.

Kneeling by her side, I tried a different approach, recalling the little I had learnt about non-verbal communication from Elder Akara. I drew a circle in the air, mirroring Kiera's gesture, and then pointed towards the entrance of the hut.

"Boren-chaka tola ni-ke," I repeated slowly, pointing at her and then at myself, then gestured out the door. Was she saying she needed to go somewhere?

Kiera’s eyes softened, and she nodded, a sign universally recognized. She repeated her hand gestures, this time more slowly, and pointed to herself, then mimicked an old man walking with a stick.

"Elder?" I hazarded a guess. "You want to speak to Elder Akara?"

At the mention of the Elder, Kiera's face lit up with recognition. "Akara," she echoed, pointing at herself and then in the direction I assumed she believed the Elder's dwelling to be.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

My mother watched our interaction with a thoughtful frown. "I think you're right, Tak. She needs to speak to Elder Akara. She may be able to tell him something important about her people," she said, voicing my own thoughts.

"Can we risk it?" I asked, glancing at my mother. "The Elder's ill. He’s been refusing all visitors."

"We don't have many options, Tak," my mother replied with a sigh. "We may have to risk it. This might be the only way to understand what happened to the Wulani."

I nodded, agreeing with my mother's assessment. Despite the potential danger, the risk of not understanding was far greater. "I'll take her," I said, determination hardening my voice. "I'll make sure she gets to Elder Akara safely."

"I trust you, Tak," my mother said, her hands on my shoulder. "Remember, every step you take shapes the path of our tribe."

As I helped Kiera up, her hand grasping my arm for support, I felt the weight of my mother's words. There was so much we didn't know, so much we needed to understand.

As Kiera and I made our slow and halting way towards Elder Akara's hut, I felt a touch on my shoulder. Turning, I saw Mako, his eyes squinting in concern as he regarded the Wulani woman.

"Tak," he greeted, falling into step beside us. "You seem to be struggling. May I help?" Without waiting for my response, he moved to Kiera's other side, offering his arm for support.

"Thanks, Mako," I replied, grateful for the assistance. With Mako's help, Kiera's steps seemed more stable, and we made better progress.

"Where are you headed?" Mako asked, looking at Kiera with a questioning gaze.

"We're taking her to Elder Akara," I explained. "She has been trying to communicate with us, and we believe she wants to speak to the Elder."

Mako frowned, his thoughtful eyes betraying his worry. "The Elder's condition hasn't been great, Tak. Is this really necessary?"

Before I could respond, Kiera interjected, her words tumbling out in a torrent of incomprehensible syllables. "Izoka we-bora tala-mi!" Her voice was insistent, her gray eyes blazing with an urgency we could not grasp.

"Slow down, Kiera," I tried to calm her, feeling an echo of her desperation. "We don't understand."

Mako, who had been watching her intently, his brown eyes narrowed in concentration, let out a soft sigh. "I wish we did, Tak," he said, frustration lining his words. "So much of what's happening right now seems tied to this woman and her people. We're walking blind."

"I know," I agreed, glancing at Kiera, who had fallen silent, her gaze far away. "But it's the best we can do right now. She needs to see the Elder. He is our only chance of understanding her."

For a moment, Mako said nothing, his gaze lingering on the distant horizon, lost in thought. Then he nodded, his expression firming with resolve. "Very well," he said. "We'll take her to the Elder. If there is even a slight chance that this could shed some light on the situation, it's a risk worth taking."

With a renewed sense of purpose, we continued our journey towards Elder Akara's hut. Each step felt heavy, laden with the weight of uncertainty and the lingering fear of the unknown.

As we stepped into Elder Akara's hut, a hush fell over us, broken only by the low, crackling fire in the corner. The air was heavy with the scent of herbs and earthy medicines, an olfactory testament to Rasha's ceaseless efforts to maintain the Elder's health. She looked up as we entered, her eyes widening momentarily at the sight of Kiera, before quickly masking her surprise.

"Rasha," Mako greeted, nodding towards her. "How is he?"

She sighed, her gaze drifting back to Akara, who lay still, his face paler than I remembered. "Not well, I fear," she admitted, her voice hushed. "But he's a fighter, our Elder. He's been asking about you, Tak."

I swallowed, feeling a rush of emotion at her words. Akara was like a grandfather to us all, his wisdom and guidance a beacon in our lives. To see him in such a state was heart-wrenching.

Kiera, who had been silent till now, suddenly moved forward, her eyes locked on Akara. "Akara...weh-ha bora talo," she spoke, her voice urgent. The language barrier was as frustrating as ever, but her need to communicate was clear.

"I don't understand," I said, helplessly. She turned to me, her grey eyes pleading. I had never felt so helpless.

Rasha, who had been observing quietly, stepped forward. "She needs to speak to the Elder. I can see it in her eyes. Let her."

"But Rasha..." Mako started, but she cut him off with a firm shake of her head.

"Elder Akara may be our only chance at understanding her. Besides," she added, looking at Akara with a mix of affection and sorrow, "he would never forgive us if we denied him this."

Mako seemed about to argue, but one look at Akara's frail figure quieted him. With a curt nod, he stepped back, allowing Kiera to approach the bed. I watched, my heart pounding in my chest, as she knelt beside Akara, her voice rising and falling in an alien melody as she spoke. All we could do was watch and wait, praying that some sense could be made of this chaos.

Watching them, I was struck by the raw humanity of it all - the desperation to communicate, to understand and be understood, the determination to survive in the face of adversities. We were different in many ways - our cultures, our languages, our life experiences - but in that moment, in the soft glow of the firelight, the barriers seemed to blur. We were all just people, trying our best to navigate the tumultuous sea of life. And that realization was both humbling and immensely powerful.

After what seemed like an eternity, Kiera stopped speaking. The room fell silent again, save for the crackle of the fire and Akara's labored breathing. We waited, our hearts in our throats, as Akara's gray eyes flickered open, meeting Kiera's. For a moment, he simply looked at her, his gaze unreadable. And then, very slowly, he began to speak.

Akara's voice was raspy and weak, but the Wulani words that flowed from his lips held an odd melody, a rhythm that carried the weight of a deep-rooted language, one that was tied to the earth and the primal elements. He and Kiera spoke at length, her words coming out in hurried, desperate bursts, while his replies were slow and thoughtful.

As we watched the exchange, the reality of the situation weighed heavily on us. Even though we could not comprehend their language, the gravity of their conversation was clear as day. Kiera's wide eyes, her wringing hands, and the strain in her voice as she implored Akara were undeniable signs of her dire state.

When they finished speaking, Kiera bowed her head, exhaustion etched on her face. There was a long silence as Akara looked at her, his gray eyes softening with a profound understanding. He nodded slowly and spoke a few words in Wulani. Whatever he said seemed to comfort Kiera, she sighed and nodded, relief washing over her features.

Akara then turned towards us, his gaze focusing on Mako and me. He mustered a weak smile, the corners of his mouth trembling slightly. "Come closer, my boys," he beckoned, his voice barely above a whisper.

We approached his bed, kneeling beside Kiera. Akara looked older than I'd ever seen him, his face etched with lines of age and wisdom, his skin as pale as the snow outside. But his eyes... his eyes held a fire, a determination that belied his frail physical state.

The air in the room seemed to thicken as Akara, with a voice as brittle as dried leaves, began to share Kiera's tale.

"Kiera tells me that her people... they turned on each other," he said, his voice raw with the weight of the tale. The words hung in the air, stark against the low hum of the burning hearth.

"Their resources ran thin, game was scarce... With winter at their doorstep, they found themselves cornered by hunger and cold." Akara's voice cracked slightly. I looked at him, at the deep lines on his face etched even deeper by the grim tale he was unfolding.

"Then... they fought. Brothers, sisters, and friends. Each desperate to cling to life," he continued, his gaze distant, lost in the horrific reality of Kiera's story.

The silence that followed was deafening. We all sat, stunned into silence by the grim tale. I looked at Kiera, her eyes haunted with the memory of her clan's downfall. It was chilling to think about, the image of people turning against each other out of desperation.

Akara's hand, as frail as the rest of him, rested on Kiera's. He whispered something to her in Wulani, the foreign words soft but heavy with empathy. She nodded in response, her hands wrapping around his in a gesture of gratitude.

He turned back to us, his gaze meeting ours. "We must understand, my boys. The hunger, the cold... they can change people. They can push us to the brink, making us lose sight of our humanity."

Akara's words, although spoken softly, echoed in the small space. As I looked at Kiera, I felt a rush of sympathy for her. She had experienced what was arguably the worst aspect of human nature.

Akara looked at me, his eyes holding a depth of understanding and compassion that was humbling. "Compassion, Tak," he whispered. "Even in the face of such despair, we must hold onto our compassion."

His words, though simple, held a profound wisdom. We had prepared ourselves to face an external enemy, but the real threat, it seemed, was far more insidious.

There was more to Kiera's tale, it seemed. She spoke in low, urgent tones to Akara, her voice trembling with emotion. As she continued, Akara's brows furrowed in concern, his eyes reflecting a growing sense of dread. The silence in the room was punctuated by the crackling of the fire, the eerie shadows dancing across the room.

"Many of my people fled in this direction," Akara translated. "Kiera was among them. They attacked her for the meager food she carried."

A sudden chill crept into the room, the heavy reality of Kiera's tale rendering us all silent. The air became dense with tension and a fearful anticipation, a stark contrast to the warmth radiating from the hearth.

"Then she saw smoke... our smoke," Akara said, his voice barely a whisper. "She didn't know it was us...the Ashaya."

I exchanged a glance with Mako, my heart pounding in my chest. Our tribe was known for its hospitality, but this news... it brought a different, far more dangerous perspective to our situation.

Before I could digest the reality of Kiera's revelations, a sudden sound broke through the silence—a distant, harsh blast of a horn echoing through the cold winter air. A chill ran down my spine. That sound... it was a signal we knew all too well. It was the horn of warning, of danger approaching.

"Mako," I said, looking at the older man, the words barely leaving my lips. His brown eyes mirrored my fear, the implications of the sound setting in.

"We're under attack," Mako said, his voice low but carrying a note of urgency. The casual calm that usually marked his demeanor was replaced by a hard edge of tension. He stood abruptly, knocking his stool back in his haste.

"What?" Akara's voice sounded frail against the backdrop of the echoing horn, his eyes wide with shock.

Kiera's eyes widened, her hand clutching at Akara's. She spoke rapidly, her words a jumbled mix of fear and urgency. "She says... they're here. The ones who fled her tribe... they're here," Akara translated, his voice trembling with a fear I'd never heard from him before.

And then, the horn blared again, the sound piercing the night air, seeping into the huts and homes of the Ashaya tribe, a harsh harbinger of the chaos to come. Our enemies were closer than we'd ever imagined. The battle we'd been preparing for was upon us.

The last echo of the horn hung in the air, an ominous note that left a cold dread lingering in its wake. The room was silent for a moment, all of us frozen in place as the reality of our situation sunk in. Our peaceful existence had been shattered. We were no longer just a tribe in the wilderness. We were a tribe under siege.