The creature at the top of the hill walks down the slope towards the woman. The muscles in his arms are taut, she notices, but his gait is steady and slow. Although the woman remains in a relaxed and peaceful stance, her muscles sharpen in preparation for an unexpected attack. As she hoped he would, the Murkovin stops a few feet in front of her with his weapon idle at his side.
“What do you want in return?” he asks.
The woman briefly studies the man’s long, worn face, as well as the many battle scars on his arms. The man has faced the harshness of life in the Barrens, but proven he has the strength and will to survive.
“I want our kind to live in peace,” she answers. “How many Murkovin dwell near here?”
The man looks off to each of his sides and then returns his attention to the woman. “Almost forty within fifty miles of here.”
“All in clans like yours?”
“Most,” he says. “A few are loners.”
“Do you get along with each other?”
The man clenches his jaw. “We leave the others alone. A few create problems, especially during long periods of light.”
“How many sustaining trees grow in this fifty mile area?” the woman asks.
“Three that are still alive.”
“It must be difficult to get what you need for survival,” the woman says. “But imagine a new Barrens, one with sustaining trees never farther than a few miles apart. The trees are all bound by rope and provide more sap than you could ever consume. Imagine items made of steel and well-sewn clothing. Imagine the ground covered by grass, not the sparse patches of weeds we have now. And more than anything else, imagine our kind living in peace.”
The man shakes his head. “How can that come to be?”
“It starts with a better supply of sap. When we have all the sap we need, there’s no need to fight amongst ourselves.”
“But you can’t change what grows in the Barrens,” he gruffly replies.
“Not now,” the woman says, “but one morrow in the not too distant future, we can bring change. Camps like the one we hope to establish here have already formed across different parts of the Barrens. Some have several trees in a small area with as many as forty of our kind dwelling nearby. They have steel tools they use to improve caverns. They work together, not against one another. The time of killing our own has passed. An era of unity is arriving.”
“That doesn’t explain how you’ll change the landscape of the Barrens.”
“A plan is in place,” the woman replies. “The first step is dwelling in peace.”
“You’re not answering my question!” the man fires back.
A clever man. He’ll eventually be able to take over as commander for this camp, the woman thinks to herself before speaking out loud again.
“There will be a great battle one morrow. When it’s over, those who adhere to the new ways will control the balance of Krymzyn. But until you and I gain each other’s trust, I can tell you no more.”
The Murkovin glares at the woman. “You want us to fight this battle for you.”
She was ready for the man’s response, the same one she’d received at many other camps they’d set up. The woman doesn’t hesitate with her reply.
“You can choose to join us in the fight for a better life, or you can choose not to. You have no idea how many of our kind there are and how many want to take part in these changes. No matter what you choose to do in the future, we’ll help bring peace to this area. We require nothing in return.”
Considering her proposition, the Murkovin takes a few steps to the woman’s side and examines the tree fifty feet behind her. Knowing that she’ll need a final plea to convince the man to join her, the woman focuses her eyes on the top of the hill again. The female Murkovin is still standing on the crest with three small children partially hidden behind the rocks.
“I have a small child,” the woman says to the man. “Even if it costs me my life, I want him to have a far better existence than the one I’ve known. I believe you think the same way as I do.”
After a few moments pass, the man turns his head to the woman. “What if someone from the Delta sees one of these camps? They could bring others and attack.”
The woman shrugs her shoulders. “The people in the Delta don’t care what we do as long as we stay away from them. The camps we have now are in the southwest and northeast Barrens, well off the paths that Travelers use. We’ll eventually have camps in every part of the Barrens. At the speed that Travelers cross our land, it’s unlikely they’d even notice a group of our kind. They leave the trading posts alone as it is now, so it shouldn’t be a problem. Have you ever seen a Traveler near here?”
“No,” the man answers.
“And you probably never will,” the woman tells him. “As a precaution, the other camps always have a guard keeping watch. If a Traveler were to stop, the guard would see them and call others. The Traveler would be surely be killed. And if you work with those around you, dwell together in peace, you’ll have numbers against those of our kind who believe they can take what they want from others.”
Returning his attention to the tree, the man ponders all that the woman told him. The woman addresses the commander standing a few feet away from her.
“Bring the other transport,” she says.
The commander runs towards a hill on the other side of the tree. After briefly disappearing behind it, she returns with a large wagon in tow. The back of the cart is stuffed with steel tools, several long lengths of rope, a large bolt of black fabric, metal pitchers and cups, and a dozen steel spears. When the commander parks
