A pack of ten armed keelish slowly followed behind me, weapons in hand. The new rudimentary halberds were impressive–each one was made of three simple materials–burlraiz root, a stone, and grass. The haft was a cut section of burlraiz, selected for how straight it had grown, about 2m long. The head, a sharpened section of stone, weighing somewhere from 4-5kg, was shaped like an axe head with a sharpened edge. The head was fastened to the haft by a tight weaving of grass encasing a large portion of the haft and the base of the blade.

We stepped deeper into the thickly growing grass, the ground still solid beneath our feet. Nearby I could hear the soft steps of other packs proceeding forward into the grass, looking to flush the Sea Wolfstags from wherever their den was.

The plan we had decided to implement was to deploy the four packs from one edge of the grassy thicket and proceed methodically towards the other edge, slaughtering any wolfstag we came across in the process. The process was slow going, but it seemed to be effective. Every so often, we would come across evidence of deep mud pits or wolfstag hunts, but never the creatures themselves–the space they could still be found in was shrinking, and evidence of the creatures’ habitation became more and more common as we proceeded. A mist slowly became apparent and began to press in on our senses, limiting visibility and dampening both the sandy ground underfoot and the sounds of our progress. Each step began to sink deeper and deeper into the earth and the sounds of our squelching steps filled the air as the grass thinned around us.

Finally, we entered a clearing in the deep grass. Before us was an ever more foggy space devoid of plant life. Across the soggy expanse the vague outline of a rocky formation could be made out, only barely. I let out a low whistle, signaling the packs nearby to slow to a stop. The sodden, soft soil underfoot was increasingly deep, reaching past my hip, and the wolfstags must have been near. I let out a loud whistling shriek, calling the other three packs in to join us on our assault of our prey’s den.

With a look around, the furtive shapes of our prey flitting through the shadowy mists became more and more apparent, then numerous. Five, ten, then twenty of the beasts came closer to our packs while still stepping easily over the mushy ground that swallowed our legs.

One of the wolfstags hung back just a slight bit, its mouth open and tongue lolling in a deprecating grin. Somewhere in its beady eyes I saw contempt as it barked out a command and its pack began to circle around my, the foremost, pack.

Perfect.

With a practiced gesture, I motioned for the rest of the pack to ready their weapons while I did so with my own. My spear settled more firmly in my grip, I began to wait.

It was strange to wait on a hunt, after all this time of simply chasing down and mauling anything I wanted to devour alongside my pack, but it simply wasn’t possible in this boggy environment the wolfstags had prepared. Thus, it took longer than I had wanted to sit back on my heels and wait for the inevitable probing attacks. The closest attack to me came from a small, lithe beast with horns that were barely more than nubs beginning to descend its skull. It hadn’t understood the threat my spear posed when it approached me directly before sidestepping at the last second, just outside of my hands’ reach. I was able to bury my spear up to the haft in its ribs, and the creature immediately fell to the surface of the mud, dead.

Looking to the side, there had been two other failed attacks on my pack by our would be hunters. Both had ended poorly for the aggressors. One corpse laid crumpled on the ground, its head cleaved in two by a single powerful chop delivered by a keelish’s halberd, and the other attacker retreated, the muscle of its shoulder chopped open nearly to the bone. The previously haughty leader of the pack stiffened once it saw the young wolfstags’ corpses drop, and with a snarl gave a command to the rest of the pack before joining the attack itself.

The probing attacks were abandoned, and the pack of wolfstags began an attack in earnest. They continued to kite around us, their attacks more exploratory than deadly, looking to exploit their greater mobility, but the other keelish packs began closing in and restricting the mobility of the wolfstags. They must have had something to defend in their den, probably young, since they didn’t abandon the attack as we continued wading forward in the thick mud.

Suddenly, an invisible line was crossed, and the wolfstags’ approach shifted drastically. Without warning, a group of three of the beasts charged me, their heads lowered and horns rushing towards me. I lowered my spear at one and it abandoned the attack, leaving the other two to attack from either side. I didn’t have the time to react and do anything else with my spear, and dropped it. No longer were they exploiting the surrounding wet environment, but began a savage attack in full.

I reached out on both sides with both arms, my scales bristling. I swiped out with my left arm, scoring deep cuts on the beast’s face while I lowered my center of gravity and punched my open right hand into the other wolfstag’s throat. Once it made contact, I clenched my fist, my claws digging deeply into the tender flesh of my prey. It dropped heavily to the ground while my other victim began to withdraw to begin a second attack with a different group.

The wheeling groups of three and four wolfstags were obviously well practiced, and they began to attempt to shave off individual members of my packs, but with the advantage of reach granted by our armaments, every time they approached the wolfstags were forced to back away or sustain serious injuries. Meanwhile, my keelish would fall back into the cover of their companions whenever death presented itself, so we had sustained only minor injuries. One by one, the swarming wolfstags were felled, until only the larger leader stood, beleaguered and helpless, before the entrance to the den.

I stepped forward, spear in hand, and began the brutal fight. The beast rushed forward as I raised my spear. It dodged to the side, I adjusted my grip and angle, it wheeled farther around, faster than I could maneuver, and pressed forward. I raised the haft of my spear and knocked the head of the wolfstag up before burying my fangs in its throat and shaking it. A wet snapping of bone sounded and the body went limp. Looking down, I noted that she was a female, and had all the markings of a mother. Most of the smallest wolves around were almost certainly her children. A thought that wouldn’t have crossed my mind just weeks ago stuck with me: this mother watched her children slaughtered one by one, and finally gave her own life trying to strike down the aggressors of her own home… The thought almost turned my stomach, but my mind quickly steeled itself–this was meat that would feed the swarm as a whole and ensure that my children grew to adulthood.

I bowed my head in respect to the fallen hunter. “Your strength to ours. Rest well.”

The retaliatory attack, for good or ill, was over.