The night wind whispered through the entrance of the cave, carrying the scent of damp earth and smoke. Shadows swayed across the rough walls, their shapes cast by the single large fire that burned at the center. The tribe had gathered hunters, elders, mothers, and youths alike all drawn together by the unease that hung over them since the hunting party's return.
Torya stood near the flames, his shadow tall and steady. His bronze-tipped spear leaned against the stone beside him, still faintly stained from the beast's blood. Around him, faces flickered in the orange glow some tired, some fearful, others waiting in silence. The children huddled close to their mothers, clutching scraps of fur or bone ornaments for comfort.
He drew a slow breath. "You've all noticed it," he began. "The forest is quiet. The prey that used to fill our traps and paths are gone. And today, we met something that shouldn't be this close to our land."
Murmurs rippled through the gathered crowd.
Elder Saran's weathered face turned toward him. "The leopard?"
"Yes," Torya said. "It came from the deep woods. It was stronger, faster — and starving. But that's not all we found."
The fire crackled as he continued, voice steady but grim. "Down by the river, we saw a corpse. Not an animal. A lizardman scaled, armed once, and wounded as if by blades."
The whispers grew louder, panic beginning to stir among them.
"A corpse? You mean one of those riverfolk stories come alive?" a woman asked, clutching her child closer.
"They're real?" said a young man near the back, his tone sharp with disbelief. "And armed? Who killed it?"
"That's what worries me," Torya said. "Something strong. Intelligent. The wounds weren't wild. They were deliberate."
Elder Varin leaned forward from his spot by the wall, his single eye reflecting the firelight. "If creatures like that are fighting near our rivers, it means the land around us is no longer safe." His voice was low, but each word carried weight. "Even the predators are fleeing. That's why the woods are empty."
Silence followed heavy and suffocating.
From one side, the mother with the sleeping child spoke softly, as if afraid to disturb the quiet. "Then what do we do, young chief? If beasts and strange things come from the woods, where can we run?"
Her question lingered in the air. Torya looked around at the weary faces of his people, at the crude spears and furs that were all they owned. Running wasn't an option. They had nowhere to go.
"We don't run," he said finally. "We build."
The murmurs returned confusion this time.
"Build?" Daren asked, brows furrowing. "You mean… huts?"
Torya shook his head. "Walls. Wooden walls around our cave, around our home. A barrier to keep things out."
There was a pause, then laughter nervous and uncertain from one of the hunters. "Walls? Made of wood? Like the trees will listen and stand guard for us?"
Elder Saran raised a hand for silence, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "No… I've seen walls before," he said slowly. "In the south, many seasons ago. The larger tribes there they used stone and wood together. High, wide barriers, with gates and guards."
The others turned to him in surprise. "You've seen them?"
Saran nodded. "Yes. They called them strongholds. The walls kept beasts out and gave their hunters time to prepare. But building one took many hands."
Torya stepped closer to the fire. "Then we'll learn to do the same. We have trees. We have rope. We can make tools bronze can cut and shape more than stone ever could."
Still, doubt flickered in their eyes.
A young woman spoke softly. "But how can we build something so large? We barely have enough food for everyone… and what if it doesn't hold?"
Torya met her gaze. "Then we build again. Stronger. Better. The first metal we forged proved what we can do when we work together. If we stay like we are open and exposed we'll lose everything. But if we stand behind walls, we can protect the young, the sick, all of us."
The mother holding her sleeping child looked at him for a long moment. Her child stirred faintly against her arm, small fingers curling into her cloak. "If it means safety for them," she said quietly, "then I'll help however I can."
Others nodded, voices joining hers.
"We'll cut the trees.""I can weave the ropes.""My sons can dig the posts."
The room began to stir with new energy not excitement, but resolve. Hope born from fear.
Elder Varin rose slowly, leaning on his spear. "Then it's decided. We build the wall."
A murmur of agreement swept the cave, soft but certain.
As they spoke, the firelight glimmered across their faces, chasing away the shadows. Torya listened as they began to discuss the details where the wall should rise, how wide it should be, what tools they would need.
Daren suggested using the ridge's slope as one side of the barrier, saving effort and materials. Rahn proposed digging shallow trenches for support. Lera mentioned using mud and woven vines to seal the gaps between the logs. Even Tir, sleepy-eyed but eager, mumbled something about placing sharpened stakes outward "so beasts can't climb in."
Their voices rose and fell like the rhythm of the flames, each idea shaping the picture of their defense.
At one point, Elder Saran drew lines in the dirt with a burnt stick, sketching rough outlines of what he remembered from the southern walls. "Each post must be buried deep," he said, "and bound together at the top. If one falls, the others will stand with it."
"That's how we'll stand too," Lera murmured.
For a while, even the fear seemed to fade.
Outside, the wind howled faintly through the trees, but inside the cave, the sound of planning of unity filled the space. The smell of smoke and ash mixed with the faint sweetness of resin from the logs near the fire.
Torya sat and listened, his mind half in the present, half wandering. Nova's voice echoed faintly within him.[Observation: Cooperation among your group has increased significantly. This structure you plan — it will change your tribe's development curve.]
Change it… how?
[It will shift them from survival to settlement. A wall is more than defense it marks territory, foundation, and progress.]
Torya looked at the faces around him people who once only thought of food for the next day, now talking about foundations and gates. Then this is the right path.
[Affirmative.]
The fire crackled again, scattering tiny embers into the air. One drifted near the mother's child, and she brushed it away gently. The little one stirred but didn't wake. Her tired smile lingered as she listened to the talk of walls, her eyes bright despite the worry. For the first time that night, she looked less afraid.
Slowly, the discussions quieted. One by one, the tribe began to settle. Mothers carried sleeping children to the far corners, hunters lay their spears by the wall, and the elders sat in silence their thoughts lost to the flames.
Torya remained where he stood, the firelight glinting off his bronze spear. Elder Saran approached, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You've given them something to hold onto, Torya. Fear divides. Purpose binds."
He nodded quietly. "Let's hope it holds."
"It will," Saran said softly, then walked away to his resting place.
Soon the cave grew quiet except for the whisper of embers and the soft breathing of those asleep. Torya sat down beside the dying fire, his reflection shimmering faintly on the metal tip of his spear. Outside, the night stretched vast and unknown a dark ocean beyond their fragile island of light.
He thought of the leopard, of the corpse by the river, of the strange silence of the forest. And then he thought of the wall they would raise rough and crude perhaps, but theirs.
Nova… do you think a wall can really protect us?
[Protection is temporary. But the act of building it — that is what ensures survival.]
Torya's lips curved into the faintest of smiles. "Then we'll build it," he whispered. "No matter how many times it falls."
The fire dimmed to a soft glow. He watched the flickering coals until his eyes grew heavy, the sound of quiet breathing around him blending with the wind outside.
And as sleep finally claimed him, the last thought that drifted through his mind was not of fear, but of the image of towering wooden walls standing firm against the darkness, born from the will of a tribe that refused to fade.