Gulaak let his hand move through the grooves in the footprint. It was easy to see for any that the mark had been left by a goblin, but with his knowledge, he felt that the goblin had been of a calm state of mind, the setting of the foot made evenly by one confident in their safety this far in the tribe's territory. Time had eroded the edges of the footprint enough that he knew that it had been left before the battle between the Black Rats and the Red Marks.

All of the tracks left here were much the same, they come from the direction of the mound home of the defeated Black Rats and enter the mushroom grove and then follow back out again, only a few stray out to the edges of the small valley.

"Teacher." A quiet voice says from close behind him.

Gulaak stands up and turns toward the speaker. He is not startled by the appearance of his most recent student. Though the young goblin had made his best effort to hide his presence as he snuck up to the head hunter, Gulaak had sensed his approach some distance away from him.

Tralb had made no sound with his feet and he was becoming skilled in keeping his breath controlled, but the young hunter has yet to master the ways of keeping his gear from making sounds as he moves about. The two atlatl darts kept on his back always scraping against each other.

Gulaak wonders when he will realize the mistake, he is half of a mind to tell him, the game would be more interesting, but the best lessons are ones learned with the least input.

"Seventeen paces." Is all that Gulaak says.

Tralb lets out a small puff of air from his nose in acknowledgment and nothing more. When they had begun the game the number had been over twice as large and he had worked hard with every step closer he had gotten to the greatest headhunter in living memory.

"Braas and Ental are about to fight again," Tralb announces.

Gulaak takes a deep breath to calm himself.

When the council of chieftains tasked him with leading the war party into the territory of the Black Rats, he had known that he would find little pleasure in it.

Their goal was to deal with any remnants of the tribe that they found and to destroy the groves in the territory.

The Red Marks had done them a great boon, The Black Rats had always been a nuisance, but one they could not deal with unless they were willing to leave themselves open to attacks from the south. Neither could there be made much headway on the other side, if there would be a need to guard against raids in the north.

Gulaak knew that eliminating the probability of enemies at their back was a wise move; it would give much relief to the warriors posted to the south that was not why he loathed the task.

There were two chieftains currently on the council, instead of the customary three, and because of one of the seats being empty the rivalry between the warriors was greater than ever.

Gulaak, like most headhunters, held himself separate from the politics of the tribe. Why should he beat his chest in an effort to show his worth when one needs only look upon his trophy necklace to see his worth? Hanging from the neck of the old hunter there were eight pairs of long fangs, each pair denoting a great serpent that he had slain.

He could keep the warriors from fighting with each other and would not start any trouble himself. That had been the reason that the chieftains had given him. Why it had to be him, who was to lead the war party.

Gulaak did not agree with the methods of the chieftains, to him, it seemed that the chieftains should elevate one of the warriors to the empty position and be done with it. He suspected that he was being used to delay the filling of the empty seat, so the two can enjoy more power between themselves.

"Better separate those two before they gut each other," Gulaak said and began to walk toward the oasis.

Tralb joined his teacher to walk next to him.

"Why not let them fight it out, it would be quieter, with only one of them."

Gulaak shared the feeling, but though he despised politics he was not without some mind for it.

"Best not to, if one of them survived, who do you think his next opponent would be?" He replied.

Tralb did not reply, but his eyes narrowed as he thought of the potential danger his teacher would be in.

The grove had been thoroughly devastated. There was only a single trunk left half-standing by the time the two headhunters arrived at the scene, the rest of the mushrooms had been felled down and thoroughly chopped to pieces, which in turn had been stomped upon, so what remained was a mushy paste on the ground.

It was the fourth grove they had destroyed. Still, Gulaak felt just as much defiled by the actions as on the first one. No matter how much he agreed with the wisdom of their mission, the hunter inside him wept at the unnatural act. The groves were the life source for many creatures besides goblins, where nature blossomed in the dark world they lived in. The sooner they were done with it the better.

The goblins at the grove had gathered into a circle surrounding two warriors.

Gulaak was slightly taller than the average goblin, so he could see that the two were about to explode into combat. The crowd roared in anticipation of the blood about to be stilled.

Ental the Ogre, a goblin of such stature that few could be found to rival him in all three tribes of the Cold Water, growled into the face of his smaller rival. The brute let his lips peel back to show his teeth and impressive canines to full effect, spittle flying out to land on the face of Braas.

Braas stood stoic, neither fear nor anger showed on his face. Those who did not know him could have mistaken the balance in favor of the ogre, but Gulaak knew Braas was a cunning bastard and surmised that he had bated the big one close, so he could best utilize the twin daggers he kept on his hips.

The headhunter slipped through the ranks of goblins separating him from the two. His movements were fluid like water passing through the gaps between stones in a shallow creek. Entering the ring, he let his hunting spear fall from his hand as he drew his skinning knife and hatchet.

Gulaak stepped in between the two, his weapons finding their places at the throats of the two rivals. Ental closed his mouth and raised his jaw by instinct as he felt the knife against his skin. Braas took a half step away, his hands falling to where he kept his daggers, but when he met the eyes of the headhunter, he stopped the movement.

Silence reigned in the grove following the display.

Gulaak let the quiet moment stretch for five heartbeats before he spoke.

“When I had made my name the two of you were still fighting over the scraps that the adults let fall to the floor… and even now I can still squish you like the ticks that I find under my armpit. So when I say there is no fighting until we are back from this raid. You will listen! Because the next time this happens, I will skin both of you up and make little bags for my wives to hold their knucklebones inside.”

Gulaak pulled back his weapons, before waiting for confirmation, his reputation served well enough to assure the two of the seriousness of his threat.

“Finish up here, we will be moving out soon.” He said to the crowd.

Mentioning his wives made him miss his home in the swamp village, there were four matriarchs who shared his tent, as much as any chieftain had the honor of, he had been successful for a long time and had gathered much wealth to his village.

He knew that if he went back it would not take long for him to tire of the women and the scamps running around, and before long he was back out again, but recently the opposite had also become true also. His bones protested often of late, after sleeping while on the hunt and he was not as fast as he used to be. Few headhunters lived to see their topknot become gray like his. The cozy furs of his bed and a warm fire to sit next to seemed much welcome.

The war party gathered up and they left a dead grove behind them.

Gulaak and Tralb led the party from far ahead. Gulaak knew that the leader should stay inside the group at all times, but he liked to scout ahead himself and it was a good opportunity to mentor Tralb, as they went through the small valleys that dominated the region. Occasionally he would send the young goblin back to the party, to make sure they were going in the right direction.

The two of them flowed through the shadows of a dark valley, there were a number of small stalagmites rising up from the valley floor, some many times as tall as a goblin, some only coming up to the hip. They were extra careful in how they went about exploring the area.

The two of them had gone through most of the places that could potentially hide ambushers before Gulaak heard a minute click of the tongue.

The sound had come from a few paces ahead of them, from a slight incline in the ground, next to a large stalagmite.

The headhunter slowed his pace and let his student go ahead.

Tralb kept his spear trained at the side of the stalagmite, ready for anything hiding behind it, stepping past the incline.

When Gulaak arrived at the spot, he stood still and a figure emerged from the ground as if the floor of the cave had birthed him.

“Greetings, teacher!” The figure said quietly.

Tralb whipped around, but lowered his spear, as he realized whose voice he had heard.

Of the war party, there was only one goblin Gulaak trusted to scout alone, He had sent Frul to range ahead even before they arrived in the last grove. Gulaak had not been worried, unlike these warriors, who were more likely to stumble onto any enemies than to spot them, Frul was an accomplished headhunter in his own right.

“Greetings, Frul!” Gulaak said and laid his hand on the goblin's shoulder for a moment. “If you have returned, then there was something to find?”

“Yes, a foraging party, ten heads, and young ones mostly. One is different, not a goblin.”

“A dwarf-slave?” Gulaak asked. They were rare, but not unheard of.

“No, not a stone cutter, much taller, but light on his feet, he is the leader.”

“If it walks at least it’s not one of those snake priests either.”

Frul spits on the ground at the mention of them.

It was not so long ago that a delegation from the Red Mark tribe came to collect their tribute and with them came an ambassador from that foul race. The creature stayed even after the Red Marks had left, hosted by the enclave of shamans living on Ghost Hill.

Gulaak had seen the being only once, but that was more than enough. For the tribes of Cold Water, there had ever been one true enemy, the great serpents that shared the wetlands of their home.

Headhunters like Gulaak had dedicated their lives to hunting them.

Now there was a creature part humanoid and serpent spreading poison of a different kind in the heart of their land.

Gulaak suddenly felt a need to return home, but not for comfort, but to keep those safe who live under his roof.

“Tralb! Run and get the boys.”

The youngest of the hunters took off at a run.

The old goblin turns back to his one-time student.

“Once they’re here, we’ll go deal with these foragers and then we can return home, it’ll be enough."