Whitestar sniffed the air. She smelled smoke, so much smoke and burning, cooking things. She crouched low in the tall grass, her reddish-brown fur and soft, blue leather clothes blending in with the shadows of the purple stalks. Her only spot of bright color was the star-shaped patch of fur around her right eye for which she’d been named. She hated that she still had to use her cub name; she was eager to earn her true name, her warrior’s name. She didn’t know what would be making so much smoke, but she would find out, and she’d be the first to report it. That would get Goregut’s attention.

She unslung her long plains bow and carefully strung it with the string she’d kept in the oiled pouch at her belt; no sign of rain, and it would pay to be ready. Whitestar didn’t string an arrow, trusting in her ability to pull one from the quiver at her side and fire it quickly enough. Crouching in a predator’s stalking gait, she advanced through the grassland toward the source of the fires. She knew it wasn’t a singular, big fire like a lightning strike caused last spring. No, it was many small fires. The horizon wasn’t orange and filled with smoke, there were just wisps climbing into the air, and the smells were so varied that she knew something odd was going on.

The Gresh woods were in this direction, and she hoped she’d find the source of the fires before she had to go in there; uncle Bladefist had told her about Yovashi lurking in those woods. She’d never seen a Yovashi, and she didn’t want to. The smells were starting to make her crazy - they were so good, like sizzling fat with herbs like the warriors took from Ardeni raids. Whitestar’s mouth was watering and her belly rumbling by the time she crested a slight rise and could look out over the last stretch of plains to the edge of the Gresh woods. She dropped flat to her belly when she took in the sight. What in the world was going on? Was this an invading army? Maybe the Ardeni, she mused while stroking the soft, blue leather vest her grandfather, Bluebiter, had made for her. Laying on her belly, she advanced through the grass, watchful for the blue-skinned devils that hid so well in the tall, blue stalks.

After long minutes of slow, carefully crawling, she drew close enough to see the people walking among the tents and campfires in the meadow. They weren’t Ardeni - they were taller than Ardeni, not as tall as her people, but definitely bigger than Ghelli or Cadwalli. They had coloring like the Ghelli, with their furless pale, brown, and black skin, not like the blue of the Ardeni, who, at least, were good at hiding. These people stood out like flowers on the blue grass with their bright clothes and chaotic meandering. Did they even have weapons?

Whitestar watched the strange people for a long time, never seeing any guards. Now and then, she’d see one or two of them wielding a weapon at a straw dummy or even casting spells with Energy, but they were baby spells, and as she watched, the ones with weapons would sit down after a while, and the weapons would fade away in a yellow mist. What was going on? She inched closer and closer, her curiosity making her brave. Soon, she was among the sparse trees that shielded the strangers’ meadow from the greater grassland. She crouched next to a red and white-barked Tigroi tree. She watched a group of the odd people sitting around one of the little white tents.

The more she watched them, the more Whitestar thought she had stumbled on an opportunity for real glory - the Ur-clan could easily overwhelm these soft creatures. They’d make good slaves and food. She had to hurry, though, before another hunter found them and brought word back to the clan. But, would Goretusk even listen to her? Forget Goretusk; what about one of the Underclaws? Could she bring this news to Demonkiller or Thistleback? No, their Fists would laugh at her and wouldn’t even let her close. They’d make her give them the information, and then they’d take the glory. No, she’d need to bring one of these soft creatures back as proof. If she came into camp with a captive, things would be different. Whitestar smiled, slowly exposing the rows of crooked fangs in her wide, red mouth.

She leaned her bow against the tree, away from the meadow, then spent some time among the deadwood accumulated around the tall trees until she found a stout hard branch about as wide around as her forearm. She quietly dragged it back to her tree and began to cut the small twigs away, shaping the branch into a sturdy club. She smiled, sheathing her knife and smacking the branch’s solid weight into the palm of her hand.

The little group of invaders that she’d been watching was sitting around their fire now, eating something out of a pot; she could smell meat and spices. She didn’t know which spices because her clan rarely had anything other than salt. Around the Ur-clan, though, she’d smelled things like this, especially after a good raid. These people might not look like warriors, but their food smelled amazing. There were three of them; two were smallish, probably half of Whitestar’s weight. The third one was bigger and would probably be hard for her to carry. She watched patiently, waiting for the right moment, just like her uncle had taught her when stalking prey. As the shadows lengthened and the sister moons filled the sky, one of the small strangers and the bigger one went into the tent together. Trusting her nose and the dim light of the moons, Whitestar began to creep forward, silently padding over the grass toward the side of the lone, furless invader. As she got closer, she could see that the stranger was only wearing pants, and she guessed from its build that it was a male. She had learned a bit about Ardeni and other races, and she felt confident in her assessment; after all, even Urghat had breasts, but they had the decency to cover them with hair.

He was sitting in the grass, feet toward the embers of the fire and staring up at the moon and stars. He had a blissful expression on his face, and the only reaction he had when Whitestar came looming out of the shadows, swinging her club at the back of his neck, was to open his eyes a bit wider. The club connected, and he slumped noiselessly into the grass. Whitestar froze for a second to listen for any sign that she’d been discovered, but she only heard soft murmurs and rustling from within the tent. She dropped her club in the grass and scooped up her captive, throwing him easily over her broad shoulder and sprinting across the grassy meadow back into the tree line to the north.

As soon as she hit a full sprint, Whitestar activated her Plainsrunner skill, and her steps suddenly started carrying her twice as far. The trees passed in a blur, and she was back into the plains, moving like a dark shadow through the tall grass. Anyone watching her run past in the shadows would have seen a dark form with a bright star on her head and an enormous, white fang-filled grin. She could only keep her Plainsrunner ability going for a few minutes, but by the time she had to let it drop, she’d run a couple of miles north of the invaders’ meadow. She slowed to a trot, her burden bouncing and flopping against the pack on her back.

“Umf, unh, hargh, hey! Hey! What the fuck is happening? Let me down!” Her captive had woken, and Whitestar slowed her run further to drop him into the grass at her feet. She promptly began to kick and beat him until he rolled over and stopped talking.

“You will be silent!” She growled. He cautiously peeked around his hands at her, and his eyes widened. He nodded. She grabbed his wrist and yanked him to his feet. “Walk beside me. Silently. I will beat you if you run.” Again, he nodded, and, when she started to walk, he limped beside her. Whitestar frowned at him; he was weak but obeyed her order and wasn’t crying. She had an urge to beat him, but she didn’t know why. She snorted and continued to walk.