The Next Step

Almost a week after the sinking of Greyshale…

Wolf Silverpelt, chief of what was left of the Silverpelt Ravager pack, looked out over the devastation of what had been his pack’s territory.  Avalanches of rock and earth caused by the sinking of Greyshale had torn through his camp, taking buildings and people alike with it.  As it stood, nearly a third of his pack had been lost to the avalanche or scattered and taken by the Two-Stripes in their attack, and with their primary food source also taken from them,

 his once respected and feared pack had been trampled like so much grass in a matter of days.  Such desperate times now called for the unthinkable.  He looked across the table where he sat at Roma Two-Stripe, who was watching him intently with her unwavering yellow eyes.

“You’ve made your argument well,” He sighed, “We will agree to the terms of your proposal.  Not that we have much of a choice.”

Roma gave a toothy smile and extended her hand, which Wolf took and shook.

“Look at the bright side,” Roma purred, “Silver-Stripe doesn’t sound half bad!”

Wolf could barely suppress a snarl.

Meanwhile, in True-Brackish..

Slim, a Dash-Diver in service to the Amphobos family, was trembling in their boots.  They stood in the great hall of the family manor in the heart of True-Brackish, surrounded by Amphobos loyalists and Gar sycophants who looked like they would barbecue them on a spit given half the chance.  They clutched the letter they held in their hands like a lifeline.  There was a sudden commotion and then silence as the doors to the great hall opened and a parade of Murk Diver nobility paraded into the hall, taking seats on enormous Dweller-made cushions of the highest quality in a semi-circle at one end of the room.  A heavy-set and well-adorned Murk Diver walked in and sat down at the apex of the semi-circle with an audible huff.  She glared around at the assembly before finally resting her gaze on Slim.  She held out a hand and gestured impatiently.  Slim rushed forward and bowed, placing the letter in her hand before scampering back to their place.  Mama Amphobos, using a sizable claw, cut through the wax seal of the letter.  Her eyes narrowed as she read the contents.  There was a sound akin to the bellowing of a bullfrog as she lowered the letter.  She raised her voice and addressed the assembled families of Amphobos and Gar, 

“The time is upon us, and we must hurry to make our move.  Prepare the merchants and send out the builders to corner the roads.  Send word to Papa Piscadera, and make the offer that we spoke of.”   

The families stirred into action and began to work their assigned tasks, save for one.  An old and gnarled Thrash-Jaw with a prominent tattoo of a Gar head on its chest hesitated and then posed the question, “What about the Lobos?”

Mama Amphobos stroked her jowls thoughtfully.  “We will force those water-dealers out of their own market.  That runt of theirs may prove to be more trouble than they are worth, but Komodo would have our heads if we did something about it without proof.  Keep your eye on them, kill them if they interfere.”  The Gar leader nodded, then turned and headed towards the waterways that would lead to the surface.