The torn piece of fabric from Zarthus's tribe, now carefully dried and examined, lay on a smooth stone near the central fire pit. Its vibrant, unfamiliar colors seemed muted in the firelight, a silent, unsettling message carried on the water. The lack of definitive answers from the upstream scouting pairs only deepened the anxiety that had settled over the village. The torn fabric was a tangible piece of evidence that something had happened, but what, and to whom – the expedition, Zarthus's tribe, or both – remained a heavy, unanswered question.
The atmosphere in the village remained one of heightened alert. The rhythm of daily life continued – the fields were tended, the crafting continued – but every task was now performed with a sharper edge of awareness. Eyes constantly scanned the forest, ears listened for any unusual sounds. The dark metal panel by the entrance seemed to absorb the increased tension, standing silent and imposing, its imperviousness a stark contrast to the vulnerability the villagers felt in the face of the unknown.
Kaelen maintained his outward composure, but the worry was a palpable presence around him. He spent long hours discussing the possibilities with the elders, examining the torn fabric, reviewing the reports from the upstream scouts. Had the expedition encountered trouble? Had Zarthus's tribe been attacked? Could the danger be moving downstream, towards their village? The uncertainty was a heavy burden, demanding constant vigilance.
Elias spent time with Kaelen, offering his perspective, drawing on his Earth knowledge of potential scenarios. He used his rudimentary symbols and drawings to represent different possibilities – a struggle on the riverbank, an ambush in the forest, a conflict with another group. While he couldn't provide concrete answers, his systematic approach to considering different outcomes helped Kaelen and the elders to think through the potential implications and plan accordingly.
The patrols along the palisade were maintained at double strength, particularly on the landward side and near the river. The hunters moved with a quiet intensity, their senses heightened, their weapons ready. The recent attack by the monstrous creature, combined with the unsettling discovery of the fabric, had reinforced the understanding that danger could come from any direction.
Life within the palisade walls continued, a determined counterpoint to the uncertainty outside. The irrigated fields, green and flourishing, remained a source of reassurance, a reminder of the abundance they had built and needed to protect. The sounds of crafting filled the air – the shaping of wood by Borin's apprentices, the rhythmic clatter of weaving by the women. Their work was a form of resilience, a refusal to let fear paralyze them.
Borin, while still working with the hard wood and the creature's hide plates, was also preoccupied by the torn fabric. He examined the fibers, the way they were pulled apart, trying to discern the cause of the tear. He compared it to tears made by their own tools, by animal claws, by the creature's force. His conclusion remained the same – it was torn by force, a violent separation of the threads, not a clean cut. His practical mind sought answers in the physical evidence, but the evidence itself was inconclusive regarding the specific nature of the force.
The children, sensing the increased tension, stayed closer to the huts, their games quieter, their eyes wide and watchful. Elias spent more time with them, trying to provide a sense of normalcy, teaching them their numbers and symbols, drawing maps of the village and the familiar parts of the forest. He encouraged them to draw, to express their feelings through pictures, a way to process the fear and uncertainty.
The river flowed on, a constant, murmuring presence. The villagers watched it with a new wariness. It had brought them a message, but the meaning of that message remained shrouded in mystery. They scanned its surface, hoping to see familiar shapes – the boat, the expedition members – but also fearing what else the current might carry downstream.
Days passed, marked by the rising and setting of the Sun-Eye and the waxing and waning of the Moon-Twins. The torn fabric remained on the stone, a silent, constant reminder of the unknown events upstream. The village maintained its vigilance, its people working, waiting, and watching under the vast, colorful sky.