Mist permeated the forest, a sea of white drowning the shapes, colors, and smells of nature. The rains had come and gone, leaving a layer of dampness in their wake. Houses of wood and stone formed the village before him, each held together with dried mud or loosely put together, ready to collapse at the lightest of impacts. Foul indicators of their lot in the world.

The Khor, his kind, moved about, gathering wood and stone, taking apart their shoddy homes. He had ordered it, and they obeyed. None questioned him.

His orders were finished by the time the mist had cleared, the sun beating down on the forest from above, the trees providing almost chilling shade as they moved through the forest, the males at the front, weapons in hand, the others in back carrying the remains of the village.

“This way leads to man.” It was the largest of the village’s Khor, one called Darma. Even still, his head barely reached Galal’s shoulder.

“I know,” he replied. The smaller Khor kept his gaze low as he fell back from him, just high enough to look forward. Fear had filled Galal’s nostrils since he arrived.

Galal led, his village following without a word, their walking the only sound in the forest. The birds did not chirp, the deer did not call out, the squirrels did not chatter. They walked until they came upon the human village, shingled roofs popping out from behind the trees. Lorwood.

“Humans!” He roared the name of their race, his own backing away at the call. It would carry to them, and they would come. Armored ones, of course. He expected as much, just as he expected the yelling, the frantic movements, the pungence of fear growing ever stronger. There was always so much fear.

An armored man approached, others in tow, each wielding a spear and shield. “Halt!” he called out to his men, his spear held out to block the way. They could see him, what he was. They could guess at how it would turn out. To flee would be the smarter idea, and more tempting.

“Leave. This is our village now,” Galal said. The armored man turned his head to his men, body still facing the gathering of Khor, his words too quiet to hear. One man turned back and ran, the others forming a line of spearheads.

“We’ll leave, we just need time,” the man said.

“Make it quick,” he replied. He couldn’t smell the talker. Hidden himself? Or had he run? It mattered little now.

The humans filed out of their homes. Some with courage came to view the Khor, perhaps ready for a fight. Courage that turned to dust in their throats at the sight of him, the will to fight snuffed out. They turned away and left with more hurry than they arrived, all of them heading south.

Some carried what little belongings they had. Cloth, wooden boxes, handfuls of items, each loaded up into what few carriaged were left to the village as others went by foot. To the side of the village was a herd of cattle surrounded by wooden fencing, and as a man hurried to it Galal called out to him. “Leave the cattle!” he yelled at the man.

The man stopped and fell as he turned, frantically crawling away from the cattle, hushed voices calling out to him from behind the buildings. They scurried about, rushing to take what valuables they could, retreating from the forsaken village with brisk paces. At the end of it all, only the knight and his men remained, weapons drawn. The decision had been made, and they, too, retreated, heads swiveling back and forth as they surveyed the positions of the Khor. Only when they were out of sight did Galal speak.

“The village is ours,” he began. “Take the homes for yourselves, or build new ones. You three gather food. You four, make spears.” Food, weapons, housing, the Khor set out to make or gather them all, all by his order.

He approached the houses himself. Tiny dwellings, barely tall enough for the average Khor to duck into. Despite that, the quality was a vast improvement over the Khor’s original dwellings. Their height would still cause problems, however, especially for Galal. They would need to be made bigger, perhaps even torn down and rebuilt. As much as Galal wished to emulate the humans, to build monuments like the colosseum, the Khor were not carpenters.

Some of the Khor ducked in and out of the homes, mostly the young ones. They played amongst themselves, ignoring the work that was to be done, frolicing about. Galal paid them no mind as he left the buildings and approached the spear makers. They had done well to imitate his example, taking long, sturdy branches of wood and carving the tips. They would perform poorly when compared to the spears of iron and steel, but they would do well enough.

Lifting one, Galal tested its weight, then thrusted against an invisible foe. They were much larger than the ones used by humans. Wounds left by them would run deep and wide, leaving a gory mess. If broken, then they could easily be turned to clubs.

Setting it down without a word, he moved on to the center of the village where food had been gathering up. Strips of deer and boar, loafs of bread and hardtack, fish in varying states of drying, wheels of cheese, and handfuls of vegetables and fruit. It was more than they had had, but not enough.

“Some of the human food is still cooking,” a female Khor said, her gaze facing down.

“A perpetual stew. ‘Lasting meal’, I believe is the closest translation,” the familiar voice called out. The talker, Nalmet, approached from the edge of the woods, the Khor standing, eyes fixated on the human who spoke their language. None moved to stop him as he approached Galal. “Food is cooked constantly, with more added as it is eaten.”

“Crafty work,” Galal replied. It was interesting, but useless for Khor, in the practical sense. Raw meat worked just as well as cooked.

“Can Khor eat rotten meat?” the man asked.

“No.”

“Then use the leftover pots. It prevents rotting, good for storing food.” In a moment his mind had been changed.

“Keep the fires going,” he told the female, then turned to Nalmet. “You’re too smart for your own good, talker.”

“I’ve been told. May I examine the woman and children?”

“Later.” Galal surveyed the Khor, searching their reactions. It was unlikely they would attack the talker, but he needed to be sure. They had all gathered close enough to here and see, so he spoke. “No harm to this human,” he said, a finger pointing at the man. Clicking noises sounded out among them.

“What does that sound mean?” the man asked.

“Submission,” he said. “Now go, check the cattle.” The man left without complaint or comment, the Khor moving away as he walked past.