The cave was alive with movement and murmurs, lit by the flickering glow of torches wedged into the rocky walls. The smell of raw meat mixed with smoke and damp stone, heavy yet oddly comforting.
Strips of venison lay spread out on flat stones as the tribe worked together cutting, cleaning, and preparing their catch for drying.
Torya knelt near the center, his hands slick with blood as he carved thin slices with his stone dagger. His motions were careful but clumsy, guided more by focus than experience. Across from him, Elder Saran, the old man who had taught them how to skin the deer earlier that day, moved with quiet efficiency. His gnarled fingers worked the blade with unhurried grace.
"Don't fight the meat," Saran muttered without looking up. "The knife knows where to go. You just follow its lead."
Kiel the tall youth with cropped dark hair and a scar still fading on his arm from the boar that nearly gored him last hunt snorted. "So now the knife talks, too?"
A few of the others laughed softly, but Saran only grunted. "It talks more sense than you most days."
Laughter rippled through the chamber again, even drawing a small chuckle from Torya. Beside him, Lera, the only girl in their group, smirked as she sliced through a cut of flank meat. "Kiel just doesn't listen. You could give him a spear that hums and he'd still trip on a root."
"Keep talking," Kiel shot back, "and I'll trip on you next time."
The two exchanged playful glares, but their banter lightened the room.
Further down the line, Tir, the youngest of them a quiet boy barely twelve winters old with wide, thoughtful eyes was struggling to pull sinew from a chunk of meat. His dagger slipped twice before Torya noticed.
"Hold it here," Torya said gently, crouching beside him. "Let the blade slide along the grain, not against it."
Tir nodded, copying his movements carefully. When the strip came free with a smooth cut, he grinned in quiet pride.
Around them, elders moved in and out, carrying bundles of bark for drying racks and pails of clean water. The hum of voices filled the air: some talking work, some gossip, some soft laughter that helped the long day pass.
Near the hearth, Mira, one of the older women, poured hot water over herbs Torya had gathered earlier that day. The scent of the leaves fresh, green, and faintly sweet cut through the heaviness of blood and smoke.
As the work steadied, the talk shifted. The older ones always had stories, and soon they began to flow as naturally as the fire's crackle.
"I heard from the gatherers that strange tracks were found near the west stream," Mira said, stirring the herbs with a stick. "Small and long, lighter than ours."
"That'll be the Lapinfolk," Saran replied, setting down another strip of meat. "They wander the river valleys. Quick little things ears longer than a man's forearm. You'll hear them before you ever see them."
Lera tilted her head. "The bunny-eared people? I thought they lived near the northern ridges."
"They move often," Saran said. "Trade when they can. Hide when they must."
Kiel chuckled. "Wouldn't mind seeing one of them. Maybe they hop as fast as they run."
That earned him a playful shove from Lera and another round of laughter.
But not all talk stayed light.
Eren, an older man with one cloudy eye, spoke next as he set down his knife. "Better the Lapinfolk than the Scaled Ones. At least the rabbit-people won't bite your arm off if you step too close."
"The Lizardkin?" Torya asked, glancing up.
Eren nodded. "Aye. Saw them once, years ago when I followed the trade routes south. Scales like bronze, eyes like burning suns. They keep to the swamps, but when they fight… you remember it."
The laughter faded. The fire crackled louder in the pause that followed.
"Still," Mira said, trying to sound hopeful, "at least they keep to themselves."
"Not like the Ashenkin," muttered another elder.
That name seemed to settle uneasily over them all. Even the younger ones fell quiet.
Torya frowned. "Ashenkin?"
Saran sighed. "A tribe with skin the color of dust and eyes like dying coals. They live near the broken plains to the west. Always fierce, always hungry for a fight."
"My father told me of them," Kiel said softly. "He said their anger burns hotter than fire. That they'd rather die fighting than live in peace."
Saran's wrinkled face darkened. "He wasn't wrong. Our tribe crossed paths with them once, long ago. Three men gone before the sun rose again. They don't fight for land or food. They fight because they must burn."
Lera swallowed, her knife stilling. "Then why not just stay away?"
"Because sometimes," Saran said grimly, "they come looking."
The conversation lingered in silence for a while, the sound of slicing meat filling the void.
Then, quietly, Mira spoke again. "At least none of them are like the Crowmen."
The effect was instant. Even the fire seemed to hush.
Torya looked up, confused. "Crowmen?"
Saran's knife froze halfway through a cut. He didn't look at Torya, only stared at the flames. "Don't say their name too easily, boy."
"Why not?" Tir asked timidly.
"Because they're not like us," Saran murmured. "Not like any tribe that walks the ground. They live above the canopy in nests woven from black branches and bones. Wings that blot out the sun when they fly."
Torya felt something cold run through him. "You mean… they can fly?"
Eren nodded grimly. "Aye. They follow someone greater. Something older."
"The Titan," Mira whispered, her eyes darting toward the cave entrance as if afraid the word itself might summon something.
Saran's expression turned grave. "We don't speak of them lightly. The Crowmen serve the Titan of the Verdant Veil. A being ancient as the forest itself. Some say it sleeps beneath the mountains. Others… that it walks at night when the winds turn green."
The younger ones shifted uneasily. Even the fire's warmth suddenly felt colder.
Lera, ever the bold one, tried to ease the tension. "So, what big birds serving a sleeping giant? Sounds like a story to keep us from wandering too far."
But no one laughed.
Torya's thoughts, though, had already gone elsewhere back to the memory of his father standing tall among the other men on the day they were taken. The echo of voices, the distant sound of wings.
He took a slow breath. "The Crowmen came to our tribe before, didn't they?"
Saran looked up sharply. The old man hesitated, then nodded. "Twice now. The first time was before you were born. They took the strongest men hunters, guards, fathers. Said the Titan demanded warriors for the sky wars beyond the forest."
Lera's face paled. "And they never came back."
"No," Saran said quietly. "No one ever does."
Kiel swallowed hard. "And the second time?"
Saran's gaze shifted toward Torya, heavy with understanding. "That was this year. Your father went with them. Him and the last of our grown men."
Torya's hands stilled over the meat. He already knew the truth, but hearing it aloud still hurt. "No one knows where they went?"
The elder shook his head. "Only that the Crowmen always fly west. Beyond the misted peaks. No one from any tribe has ever followed and returned to tell of it."
Mira spoke softly. "We give them when called, because refusal means ruin. The last tribe that denied conscription—"
"Burned," Saran finished flatly. "Their ashes still fall with the rain near the black cliffs."
The silence after was heavy, like the forest itself was listening.
Finally, Lera spoke again, her voice trembling just a little. "Then… why do they fight? What kind of war needs so many?"
Saran stared into the fire, eyes distant. "Some say it's a war between Titans. Others, that the Crowmen fight to keep something from waking. Whatever truth lies in it… it is not ours to know."
No one replied. The flames crackled softly, throwing shadows that danced across the rough cave walls like moving wings.
After a long moment, Torya whispered, "My father said before he left… that the forest grows darker every year. Maybe that's why the Crowmen still fight."
Eren nodded slowly. "Then may their wings not fail."
For a while, the only sounds were the soft scrape of knives and the gentle hiss of dripping fat over the fire. When the last strips of meat were laid out to dry, the elders began to tidy their tools, speaking in lower voices.
Saran rose slowly, wincing as his knees cracked. "You all did well today," he said, his tone warm again but tinged with exhaustion. "Remember what you learned this is how the tribe endures. Hands that work feed hearts that hope."
The youths nodded. Lera smiled faintly; Kiel and Tir exchanged tired grins.
As the fire dimmed and the last torch was set aside, Torya lingered a moment longer, staring at the faint smoke twisting toward the ceiling. His eyes were bright, reflecting the flames like small embers.
Outside the cave, a soft wind swept through the trees, carrying distant whispers that might have been the forest or wings too far to see.
Torya thought of his father again, of the Crowmen's black silhouettes against the sky, and the word Titan echoing in his mind like a heartbeat.
For a moment, the world felt vast and terrifying.And somewhere far beyond the forest's reach, thunder rolled low and hollow, like something ancient stirring in its sleep.