Radeon counted them as he circled. Each man treading the freezing northern ground, each breath puffing pale into the air.
More than three hundred by his measure. Enough to matter. Enough to feed.
He kept wide, patient, letting them huddle tighter and tighter around their crude array as if closeness could make up for fear.
Then he began to topple trees. Trunks cracked and fell with slow, heavy certainty.
He laid them down closer to the formation, one after another, building a rough divide between the bandits and the bison.
The men sneered at first. A wall of wood was nothing to cultivators, nothing to men who believed the earth itself had taken their side.
Radeon kept moving the timber in. Closer. Closer.
A few tried to bolt through the widening gaps. They never made it.
Radeon's wooden body lashed out in clean, precise strikes, skewering runners with pristine execution.
He did not miss one. The rest saw that and chose to stay put, swallowing their panic.
