The lure was too great. The child headed into the brush after his new playmate, unmindful of the brief stretch of almost-dry mud which lay, as if by accident, across his path.
The mother finished her task of preparing the ingredients for their evening meal and glanced around for her son. As was her practice, she had saved something for hima small handful of berries this timeas a reward for not bothering her while she worked.
The fact he was not immediately in sight did not alarm her, as he was inclined to wander. When a casual search in and around their hut failed to disclose him, however, her concern grew.
Her husband had a notoriously poor temper, and she was reluctant to call attention to her negligence if, indeed, the child had simply wandered. On the other hand, if their only son was truly endangered ...
Caught in indecision, she wandered closer to the edge of the woods, peering anxiously into the shadows, hoping to find her youngster curled up asleep in the shade. Almost by chance, her eyes fell on the stretch of mud, and her heart faltered in her chest.
A moment later she was running back into the village, shrieking her panic as she went. She had no thoughts for the berries still clenched in her fist, their juice streaking her arm as her tears streaked her face. Also gone were any worries about her husband's temper. Such fears now meant no more to her than the berries.
There were two sets of tracks in the mud: one the barefoot trail of her child, and the other ...
The forest demons had their sonand only swift action from her husband and the other hunters could save him!
The forest demon smiled at the child as he led him deeper into the forest. His name was Mantricker, and he had earned it many times over through his antics with the humans.
Through his early life, he had lived with the rest of the Wolfriders in blissful ignorance of the tall, five-fingered hunters and their wayssave what was recounted by the storytellers. The tribe's move to the holt had removed the humans to the realm of legend; their importance grew or diminished depending on the story.
Then the humans arrived again, drawn to the area by the same plentiful game and water that had first attracted the elves. As soon as their appearance was noted, all the old arguments among the Wolfriders of how to deal with the humans erupted again, as if they had never stopped. With the death of his mother, Goodtree, the chieftainship had fallen to Mantricker, and with it the arguments.
Some of the tribe favored moving again rather than having to deal with the intruders. Others were ready to take arms and drive the humans from the area. The territoriality of their wolf-blood boiled at the idea of surrendering their hunting ground to another group, particularly a group as inept in the woods as the humans. The majority of the elves, however, listened to the arguments in confusion, then turned to their chief for leadership.
Mantricker himself could see no clear path in the matter. On the one hand, he strongly resisted the idea of leaving the holt Goodtree had labored so long to build. It was the tribe's home and to be defended at all costs. Unfortunately, he was equally repelled by the idea of open combat with the humans. Even if the tribe could win, they would lose. That is to say, they would lose their way of life; the idyllic existence that made them different from the humans. He argued hotly with the advocates of war saying that to fight the humans, they would have to become like the humans: killing what was feared or could not be understood.
So the arguments continued. Though they might lie dormant for turns on end, eventually some comment or incident would spark the debates anew. In the meantime, the situation remained unchanged, with humans and elves dwelling in dangerous proximity.
Finally, Mantricker had hit on a solution that was uniquely his own. Since open combat wouldn't work for a variety of reasons, the humans would have to be convinced that this area was not desirable for them. Mantricker, along with the rest of the elves, believed that humans were always at war with their environment. All he would have to do was convince the human tribes that their wars were going badly.
So began the campaign that confirmed Mantricker's name many times over. He became a self-appointed nemesis of the five-fingered invaders. He spooked game away from the human hunters and sprang their traps so that often their village went hungry. He spent two eights-of-days building a hidden dam that dried the humans water creek overnight. Spying on their village, he heard them whispering about angry forest demons. Rather than anger their invisible tormentors the humans hauled their water from a different, distant creek, but they stayed in their village and continued their blundering ways in the forest.
Mantricker adopted new strategies: slipping into their village at night, stealing weapons or food, openly confounding their efforts to live a comfortable or secure life. In response, the humans began leaving stacks of weapons and food outside their village, trying to appease the forest devils who sought their treasures invisibly by nightbut still they stayed.
Throughout his efforts, Mantricker had to deal with growing resistance within his own tribe. While most agreed that his solution was worth trying, without exception they protested his decision to take all the risks himself. It was too dangerous, they argued. More than that, it was the tribe's right to share the risk, and the fun, of the campaign.
Mantricker stood firm. Surprising many who had seen weakness in the young chief's earlier indecision, he gave precise orders and demanded strict obedience so long as he was their acknowledged chief. True, the task was dangerous, but bringing all the Wolfriders to the human village would multiply rather than reduce the risk. He had decided on this action to preserve the elfin way of life and shield the tribe from danger ... not increase the contacts between humans and elves. The idea was his, and so too would be the danger.
Unwilling to challenge their chief, the tribe respected his orders though they didn't like what was happening. They liked even less the next tactic their chief tried after his earlier efforts proved fruitless.
Frustrated by the humans' dogged determination to stay, Mantricker tried an even bolder approach. He now showed himself to an occasional hunting party, warning them to leave the lands. If they pursued, he would lead them far afield, then double back, obscuring their tracks and signs so that they became lost in the forest. After a few terrifying rounds of this, the humans learned to signal to each other by beating on hollow logs, but they ignored the meaning behind his warnings and stayed.
Today, Mantricker was embarked on yet another attempt to convince the humans to leave. This trick was one that the chief did not like himself, but he was growing desperate. If the humans would not leave to save themselves, perhaps they would move to protect their children.
Studying the child anew, he hoped the humans cared as much for their cubs as the elves did for their own. Everything he had seen so far while watching the village seemed to indicate that they did. If not, today's lesson on vulnerability would fall once again on deaf ears.
The young human was fearless as he blundered along in playful pursuit. More than once the chief found himself laughing at the child's antics as he would at cubs of his own tribe. If only humans could be frozen at this age, like wildcat kittens, then maybe elves and humans could live together in peace. Unfortunately kittens became wildcats, and little humans became big humans all too fast. In the adult form, both were deadly and unpredictable.
In midlaugh, Mantricker's thoughts leaped unbidden to his own cub, and his smile faded.
He was worried about his cub... No, his son really couldn't be called a cub anymore. Bearclaw had already gained his physical maturity, and his performance in the hunt that won him his name left no doubt as to his ability to take his place beside the other hunters of the tribe. Still, Mantricker had difficulty thinking of him as an adult.