The evening's dim light filtered through the leaves, casting flickering shadows as I made my way through the dense forest. My mind was heavy with concern and uncertainty. We were on our way to meet Lorn, who had been watching over Vilthur's tribe. With more than thirty warriors at our disposal, the odds seemed to be stacked against us.

What could we offer them to keep this war from happening? I wondered. An idea of trade, an exchange of goods, had taken root in my mind, but what could we possibly give them? I pondered over the resources we had.

Could we offer them fired clay bricks? I questioned myself, but quickly dismissed the idea. They would be clueless about its significance and utility. It would probably be seen as a pitiful offer, an insult.

Copper? I speculated. But even if they saw its worth, they'd have to learn to work with it, and that required skills and time they might not have.

Vegetables from our gardens crossed my mind next. But it was equally improbable. They had their own food supplies and might not see the value in our home-grown produce.

Weapons were the only thing of real value we could offer, but that would be a foolish, dangerous gift. We would be arming our enemies, tipping the balance in their favor. It was a thought that filled me with dread.

"What's on your mind, Tak?" Brin's voice interrupted my thoughts. I sighed heavily, raking a hand through my hair.

"I'm trying to figure out how we can avoid this war. I was thinking about offering them a trade," I said, quickly explaining the concept to Brin. His brow furrowed in thought as he considered my words.

I was desperately hoping for a spark of an idea, an alternative that could potentially prevent this war, save lives. But at that moment, I felt more lost than ever. War seemed inevitable, and the burden of that thought weighed heavily on my heart as I continued my trek through the quiet forest.

"Sometimes, things just happen, Tak," Brin said, breaking the silence. His voice was steady and low, resonating with the wisdom he'd gained over the years.

"Maybe," I responded quietly, not entirely convinced.

"We've learned Vilthur's people are vicious. They take life without a second thought. You don't have to feel guilty for their fates," Brin reasoned, his green eyes focused ahead.

"I'm not worried about them, Brin," I said, my voice tight with frustration. "I'm worried about our people. The Ashaya and the Wulani."

He sighed deeply, his shoulders sagging a bit. "I understand," he admitted after a moment.

"We shouldn't have to fight other tribes. We should be focusing on strengthening ourselves, developing our resources. If we keep growing, keep inventing new things, our lives will become better. In time, others will come to us," I shared, laying bare the thoughts that had been consuming me.

Brin raised an eyebrow. "Did you learn that from the ancestors?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his tone.

I shook my head, a small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. "It's a dream. I want to create a place where people can come from all over, a place where they don't have to struggle."

"But that will invite envy, Tak," he warned. "If one tribe possesses everything man needs to survive, others will covet it."

"I'm aware of that," I responded, determination seeping into my voice. "But we can make it work."

"Perhaps," he allowed, but there was doubt in his eyes. "But not in our lifetime."

"Who knows, Brin," I countered. "If we can convince others that it's better to join us than to fight against us, then it's possible. More people means more work can be done. It means more resources and opportunities for everyone."

For a long moment, Brin was silent, his gaze on the path ahead. Finally, he nodded. "A good dream to have, Tak," he said, his tone thoughtful. "A hard one, but a good one."

☽☽☽

The fading sun painted the sky in hues of orange and red as we approached the hollow tree with the hole. This was the meeting point Lorn had set. A sudden, familiar voice pulled me from my thoughts.

"Tak," Mako began, walking up to me. His cool brown eyes bore into mine, his face etched with seriousness. "Have you figured out a solution?"

I sighed, feeling the weight of my thoughts. "I haven't, Mako. I still believe we should consider a peaceful solution first."

He nodded slowly, his gaze steady. "Look around you, Tak," he urged. I followed his gaze, looking at the group surrounding us. The young men and women of the Wulani tribe, their eyes alight with a fire that mirrored their determination. The Ashaya among them, their bonds with the Wulani driving them to help. "They crave justice. They want blood. And you want to take that away from them?"

"No," I replied, shaking my head firmly. "I don't."

Mako nodded, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "I've been thinking about this trade idea of yours. It might work. It might not. But first, we need to find out if Vilthur's tribe needs something. Something we have."

"That makes sense," I conceded. "And if they don't need anything?"

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Mako paused, before replying, "Then we'll consider the other plan. The one Brin suggested."

"The one where we observe Vilthur's tribe and sneak in to rescue the women?" I asked, wanting to be sure we were on the same page.

"That's the one," he confirmed. I took a moment to mull it over. The plan was dangerous, risky, but it might be our only chance to avoid outright war. The thought of putting the lives of our people at risk was nerve-racking, yet I knew inaction wasn't an option.

"I want to be a part of this," I declared, my voice firm. Mako studied me for a moment before nodding.

"Very well, Tak," he agreed, offering a small, appreciative smile. "I knew we could count on you."

Mako led me to Lorn, who was engrossed in conversation with Garan and Eamon. I watched as the flames of the fire danced in their eyes, the light casting long, wavering shadows across their faces.

"Garan was telling us about Lorn's time observing the Vilthur's tribe," Mako explained as we approached, a nod of acknowledgement to the group.

Garan, a seasoned hunter with short black hair and a bushy beard, offered a half-smile in return. His blue eyes, once full of life, now held a deeper, mournful depth since the death of Elder Akara. I knew he missed his father.

"Mako," Lorn acknowledged, his wise blue eyes flickering to the man standing beside me. The graying strands of his hair caught the dying sunlight. "I was just about to repeat my observations."

Lorn then went on to explain his findings. The Vilthur tribe ventured out in large groups to hunt bison, usually returning five hours later. Another group would leave to forage for berries and fruits, and their return varied—sometimes hours later, sometimes at night. It was a well-structured routine, mirroring our own in many ways.

"How many people did you observe, Lorn?" I asked, trying to estimate their numbers.

Lorn blinked, clearly thrown by the question. "There were...many, Tak."

I grimaced, inwardly berating myself for not teaching the concept of counting past three.

"How many people do you think per tent, Lorn?" I clarified. "One, two, or three?"

He paused, deep in thought. "Perhaps two per tent," he finally answered, looking unsure.

I nodded, relief washing over me. "That's fewer than I expected."

Eamon, with curiosity glittering in his hazel eyes, turned to Lorn, "What about the women, children, and the elderly?"

Lorn, his weathered face lit by the flickering firelight, nodded in understanding. "I have seen plenty of them. They, however, do not leave the tribe’s territory."

Mako's face relaxed into a thoughtful expression, his cool brown eyes observing the play of light and shadows. "That's good," he said, his tone contemplative, "Did you notice anything else?"

"They don't use bows," Lorn replied, his gaze fixed on the dancing flames. "I watched them hunt a Bison. Three of their hunters got injured in the process."

Garan, his bushy beard glinting in the firelight, furrowed his brows, "So, what do they use?"

Lorn shrugged, "Spears. They carry two or three each and try to hurl them at the Bison to wound it, then close in for the kill."

My brows knitted together in surprise. "How do they not have bows?" I found myself asking.

Eamon chuckled softly, a hint of mischief in his eyes, "Well, we wouldn't have any either if you hadn't made one when you were younger, Tak."

His words took me back to those days not so long ago, when I had been a child of ten, filled with a spirit of exploration and wonder. Making that first bow had been a game, a way to test my skills. It was crude, but it had worked, and the joy of seeing the arrow fly had been intoxicating.

Eamon's comment brought a melancholy smile to my face. It was true. I was the one who introduced the concept of a bow to our tribe, a fact that I had almost forgotten. How naive I had been back then, simply playing with the elements of nature and unintentionally laying the groundwork for our survival.

Eamon's statement also made me realize the gap of innovation and skill between our tribe and Vilthur's. They were still relying on spears while we had moved on to bows. This could prove to be an advantage in our favor, if it came to a confrontation.

But the guilt of not having done more gnawed at me. I could've taught them how to create other tools, and develop as a tribe, if only I wasn't so wrapped up in my own world back then. Then again, my influence over the tribe was nill, I was just a boy that played with others never straying too far.

"That's good news," Garan said, stroking his thick beard, "we can pick them off from afar."

Lorn nodded in agreement, "That gives us the upper hand." Eamon, the youngest of us all, chimed in with his agreement too.

Mako, ever the thoughtful leader, was silent for a while, processing the information. "Before we consider war," he said finally, "I'd like to talk to them, see if they're willing to give up the women."

Garan was quick to object, "We should strike while we have the advantage, an ambush could be our best strategy." Lorn echoed his sentiment, "We may not match them in numbers, but a surprise attack could level the playing field."

"But we should avoid making enemies if we don't have to," Mako argued. Eamon was quick to back him up, "Mako's right. We should try talking first."

Garan scoffed, "They started this first by taking those women and holding them captive. We're just responding."

The exchange was heating up, and I felt a knot in my stomach. I decided to interject, "We don't know for sure that they're holding the women against their will. They could've just been defending themselves against Wulani attacks."

Mako stood abruptly, his voice authoritative, "Enough. We aren't here to argue amongst ourselves. As your Chief, I say we'll try speaking to them first thing tomorrow morning. We'll judge their intentions and act accordingly."

His words echoed into the night, an unmistakable decree that left no room for debate. As the Chief, Mako had the final say, and we all fell silent.

Kiera who was now the leader of the Wulani and an elder of our tribe approached us. Many eyes were locked in our direction, our voices getting too loud in the heated discussion that took place. Her dark, aged eyes held a knowing look, "What's all the shouting about?"

"We were discussing how to approach Vilthur's tribe," Mako answered, his voice calmer than before.

Her eyebrows arched in surprise, "You discussed this without me?"

Mako's face softened, "It wasn't my intention to exclude you, Kiera. The conversation just unfolded that way."

"Well, then," she said with a dismissive wave, "how are you planning to attack?"

Mako was quick to correct her, "We're not planning an attack, not yet. We want to talk to them first, see if they'll release the women."

Her face contorted in disbelief, "You seriously believe they'd just hand them over?"

Mako held her gaze, "It's been decided, Kiera. We try peaceful negotiations first."

Kiera took a step forward, "If that's the case, I'm coming with you."

Mako frowned, "That may not be wise if they refuse..."

"If they refuse, it means we've wasted precious time on pointless talk," she interjected.

Mako sighed, "It won't be pointless if they agree."

"And would you agree to such a thing, Mako?" Kiera challenged.

"I wouldn't have taken prisoners in the first place," Mako responded with an unwavering gaze.

Without another word, Kiera turned on her heel and left. As her figure disappeared into the dusk, Eamon muttered, "She's old and stubborn."

Garan cast a glance in her direction, "But her words carry wisdom, Eamon. They're born from experience and loss."

In that moment, I was reminded of the diverse paths that led us here and the wide-ranging viewpoints that defined our tribe. Together, we were strong. But would we remain so when confronted with the unknown?

As Kiera's form melted into the evening shadows, Lorn broke the silence, "I hope she can keep a cool head when we face Vilthur's tribe."

Mako nodded in agreement, "Not just her, Lorn. All the Wulani. We can't afford for rage to cloud their judgment."

Eamon chimed in, his youthful eyes searching Mako's, "Are you going to tell Kiera about our backup plan if the talk fails?"

Mako sighed, running a hand through his greying hair, "I'll tell her, Eamon, once she's had some time to cool off."

Garan grunted and leaned back against a nearby tree trunk, "Being chief isn't an easy gig, huh?"

Mako laughed, the sound echoing in the quiet night, "Maybe you should've taken up this responsibility, Garan."

Eamon shook his head, "You shouldn't say things like that, Mako."

Mako's laughter faded into a small smile, "You're right, Eamon. I suppose I've just been feeling the weight of the decisions I need to make for our people."

It was in this moment that an old phrase came to my mind, one I'd heard be said a lot in worlds that were set in medieval times. "Heavy is the head that wears the crown," I said out loud, the words hanging heavy in the air.

All heads turned toward me, their faces reflecting confusion, "What's that supposed to mean, Tak?" Eamon asked.

A small smile played on my lips as I shrugged, "Just thinking out loud," I replied, turning my gaze to the night sky.

Mako gave his final instructions. "Garan, pick some of our strongest to carry out our alternative plan, should our first attempt fail."

Garan grunted in agreement, his eyes already scanning the rest of our two tribes, assessing potential candidates. "I'll select the best," he assured Mako, before turning and disappearing into the settling dusk.

I stood there, a sense of unease washing over me. The talks of battle and plans of attack left a sour taste in my mouth. This should be the last time our tribe gets tangled in a fight like this, I thought. Our focus should be on our progress, our growth, not on potential battles and bloodshed.

I started to wander away, my thoughts heavy. I envisioned our tribe, not only as warriors but as builders and growers. Developing advanced tools, expanding our crops, trapping more wildlife, and slowly advancing into a new era.

But as the stars began to twinkle in the night sky, another thought came to mind. What if we could convince the people of Vilthur's tribe to join us? To share in our vision of stability and prosperity?

A life free of constant worries about food or the need to follow the wildlife. A life where we could offer them the benefits of settling down, of building a community together.