Meadowbrook — which has always looked more or less the same — now changes rapidly. The woods skirting the town, once the legal property of Lord Eagleclaw, have been decimated, torn out root and stem to feed the growth of the new Meadowbrook, which spreads around the outskirts of the old town like a mole turned skin tumor.
A birdseye view — one of the ruined forest, the new sharpened wooden walls, the human heads hanging from the gates — would elicit horror, but the feeling within the town is anything but. To walk through the jaunty, narrow streets is to hear laughing hiccups of music and the tinkle of goblin windchimes, to see colourful clothes drying on lines between ramshackle buildings and people engaged in lively bartering. Preachers line the streets too, both human and goblin, freshly converted apostles ready to spread the teachings of Kara. Roofs are painted with splashes of bright orange for the Prophet’s eyes.
Lily, who a week ago was a farmhand who made it to Meadowbrook once a month if she was lucky, largely leads the town in Kara’s absence (with the help of chieftain Jaika, naturally). She now joins Maynier and her warriors in the recently razed clearing outside of town, which the orc has declared as her training grounds, intending to see how the two armies are integrating. Lily admires Maynier greatly for her beauty and strength, but finds her own charms oddly lost on the woman; right now, at least, it seems Maynier is eager to chase Lily away.
“You do not need to be here, Chancellor — I am more than capable of supervising exercises myself.”
“Oh, of course, Marshal,” Lily replies, unaware that Maynier thinks they are sniping at each other; to Lily, she’s merely visiting a friend. “I can see you are doing an excellent job!”
In the clearing, the formation advances. The human militia, shields locked, inch forward. Between their feet the goblins hold their own shields up, creating a creeping mass of protective wood without the typical gaps around the legs. The tallest of the humans finish the whole barricade with their own shields, angled diagonally to the sky.
“They are good, but have much to learn,” Maynier grunts in reply. “I must not be disturbed.”
“Your passion for your work is inspiring, my friend! I know the Prophet will be overjoyed with your progress when she returns.”
“Yes. Quite.”
Lily would love to get through to her friend and have a deeper conversation, but misreading her standoffishness as a natural consequence of stress, she’s about to bid Maynier farewell when she notices Elsa, the priestess, over by the stacked crates of the makeshift rest area. “Oh? Has the Prophet permitted her to wander the town freely?”
“No,” Maynier bristles. “She is here on my command.”
“Oh? Whatever for?”
She’s not exactly quick with a lie, that Maynier, but fortunately she’s had this one prepared. “She patches up the injuries. They are still learning to fight together, and accidents are common.”
In fact, it’s so level and rehearsed that a blossom of suspicion flowers in Lily. Could the priestess have subverted Maynier? Turned her to Thala? Would that explain why this conversation is so chaste and restrained? Why she does not throw herself into the beautiful passion of friendly chatter?
Lily, trusting by nature, isn’t entirely sure what to do with this suspicion. She brushes her hands thoughtfully against the front of her dress (bright, cheerful orange, the thrill of wearing such beautiful clothes is still not lost on her) opens her mouth to speak, but is interrupted by a rustle in the trees. The rustle becomes a monstrous head, part wolf, part boar, shaggy fur painted mottle. Atop the war hound sits Jaika, majestic and calm.
“They have returned!” cries Lily happily.
“At last!”
Maynier’s enthusiasm as they rush to greet the Prophet has Lily wholly reassured, but even as Jaika dismounts, Kara does not appear behind her.
“Where is she?” Maynier’s voice is utter distress. At the same time, Lily asks: “Why have you come to us alone, dear Jaika?”
“Kara bade Jaika return. While she scouts enemy camp,” says the goblin, hound at her side, surveying the troops — who now have broken off into groups, performing various drills — with approval.
“Fool! You let her go in there alone!?” demands Maynier, grabbing Jaika by her fur-laden shoulders. Her hound, Flintpaw, growls low in her throat, small ears pressed back.
Outwardly Jaika is all self-assuredness, but in her heart the same fears twist. “You would have Jaika question the Prophet?” she asks, holding her gaze steady.
“Yes! I would have you do anything it takes to protect her life!” Maynier tosses Jaika aside an instant before the hound answers the challenge, a hand to her weapon. “We must go after her!” She’s heading toward her troops, ready to rally them for a rescue when Lily grabs a trunk-like bicep from behind.
“We certainly must not!” she says. Lily sympathises with Maynier’s panic — unlike herself, the orc does not know Kara’s true identity, does not know that the beautiful beastkin is the Goddess Sayla herself, walking in mortal form — but she cannot allow emotion to interfere with Kara’s plans. “We must trust in the Prophet.”
Maynier roars, tears herself from Lily’s grip. “You will not stop me from protecting her!”
“I would never dream of such a thing! I merely know that the Prophet is not in danger. What man sworn to Lord Eagleclaw could ever stand against her? She is quicker than a serpent’s strike and moves with the grace of a stalking lion. If we go to her, she is more like to have to rescue us.”
“Perhaps if you led the effort, diplomat, but I am a General. I am the Prophet’s trusted General! I can take these troops and steal behind their lines to rescue her.”
Jaika steps forward, seeming much taller than she is. “No. Jaika is Chieftain. None will leave town this day. The Prophet commands me, and she has decreed that we should stay.”
Maynier sneers against her fellow disciples, feeling like a lone wolf against a pack. “None of you love her as I do!”
The orc does not hear Lily’s protests or Jaika’s sharp warning; she whirls into the trees and goes after Kara alone, hand to her shortsword.