Frodo sat cross-legged on his stone, tracing the new charcoal lines on his map with interest.
He was reviewing the latest intelligence gathered by Silas and the expanding Reconnaissance network...
Silas stood on the other side of the fire, delivering the report.
Frodo noticed a subtle energy about his Head Scout today... a slight distraction that made the usually stoic boy seem unexpectedly eager to finish the briefing.
It likely had something to do with the young girl in the fletching circle, Frodo mused internally.
Frodo had already noticed the glances exchanged between Silas and Lyra, one of the older girls tasked with binding feathers to the newly manufactured spear-darts.
After all, Silas was now the leader of the tribe’s most elite unit. Every move he made was quietly observed by the rest of the cavern.
Not to mention, Lyra possessed a fierce spirit that naturally drew the attention of the younger hunters.
When Silas had first offered Lyra an extra ration of prime meat near the drying racks a few days ago, Bael had immediately passed the gossip along to Frodo’s ears.
Frodo didn’t mind this development in the slightest. Silas was practically an adult by Paleolithic standards, enduring stresses that would break modern men.
It was entirely natural for him to seek companionship...
If he found someone to anchor his loyalty even deeper to the mountain tribe, it was a strategic benefit, provided it didn’t cloud his judgment in the field.
According to Silas’s current report, Tor’s primary vanguard was fully equipped.
In fact, if they had access to better binding materials, the children’s knapping circle could increase their production output threefold!
But the children were also tasked with scraping hides and tending the fire, which naturally bottlenecked their manufacturing speed.
Regardless, the current speed was perfectly acceptable...
The vanguard was only fifteen men strong. Within another moon cycle, they would have a massive stockpile of reserve ammunition.
Another critical point in Silas’s report was the integration of the ’Second Unit.’
To maintain security and prevent chaos, Frodo had ordered the escaped slaves to be housed in a separate, easily defensible tunnel of the cavern.
Currently, there were nearly twenty of them.
Every evening, Tor and Frodo would stand before the refugees.
Frodo was breaking down their ingrained slave mentality. He needed to overwrite their cowering fear of Kael with a fierce pride.
He was implanting the foundational belief that this mountain was their true home, and that the safety of their recovering children depended entirely on their willingness to hold a spear and fight. Visit novelping.com for the full chapter.
"The rehabilitation of the refugees is progressing faster than anticipated," Silas concluded, gesturing to the map. "They are eating well. I estimate they will have the strength to begin target practice with the throwing sticks in less than a week. By that time, the children will have produced enough darts to put a weapon in every single hand."
This was the beautiful advantage of weaponry over brute strength, Frodo thought.
To train a warrior to wield a thrusting spear in close combat, or to grow the sheer muscle mass required to wrestle a beast, took a decade of brutal survival.
Kael relied on elite monsters and subjugated Neanderthals who took twenty years to reach maturity.
But a starving slave equipped with an Atlatl? That slave only needed a week of target practice to learn how to launch a projectile at lethal speeds from fifty paces away.
The longer a battle lasted, the more the advantage shifted to ranged superiority...
Pulling a lever arm was infinitely safer and more energy-efficient than swinging a stone club.
"During their target practice, make sure Bael and the Logistics team are supervising," Frodo instructed. "Every dart is an investment of our time and flint. I want a strict count of how many darts are given out, and how many are retrieved from the snow. We cannot afford waste."
"Understood," Silas nodded firmly.
"Good work," Frodo said, waving a hand to dismiss him. "That is all for today’s briefing. You have perimeter checks to run."
"Ah... Frodo..." Silas hesitated, shifting his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other. "A few days ago, you mixed the melted mammoth fat with the crushed summer berries and the pine sap. You said it was to stop the wind from cracking our lips."
"Yes," Frodo said, sitting up slightly, intrigued by the sudden change in topic. "The frostbite salve. What about it?"
"That red paste... is it difficult to make?"