The older man who spoke, the most senior and well-respected ancestor of the tribe, turned his attention back to the woman. She was dressed in a similar tunic, only without pants. The tunic was clearly oversized for her, and wrapped around her head was a wooden band, similar to a crown, although the tribe had no concept of such a thing.
She also carried various novelties strapped around her waist or hanging off her from a cord, or some straps: antlers, horns, various bones carved with symbols representing the gods, although over the years, one by one, a god's symbol had been replaced by the dragon. She was by far the most knowledgeable about religious matters, and her opinion was respected, but recently, however, it had become a common opinion among the elders of the tribes called the 'priests' that this was a mistake. This can be seen even in that they had taken to calling themselves elders again.
The panic came to them from the young — the best example was the hostile but silent rage the lion-skinned raider was showing toward who should have been the most respected of the tribe. Trying to silence him by glaring him down, something the old man in no way missed but which only pushed him to raise his voice due to indignation.
Seeing this, the lion skinned raider felt the need to speak himself
"The gods are distant, the dragon is close. The gods did not save us, the dragon we owe our lives," he said, his voice echoing what he wanted to say more than what he actually did. The woman turned to him with an expression of triumph; she was proud to have led the younger generation in what she knew to be the better path.
The faith she had guided them on she called the true way, and the gods the tribes followed before she called the old way. It was that she never denied the divinity of the old way that this gradual creep was allowed to go on, as it was just seen as her preference, but it was in the generation after her that things changed.
"The old way is not needed, we have the true way now." This was a sentiment that was unacceptable to the old members of the tribe.
"Enough, the decision has been made. The tribe will set off within the week for the river valley to start the farming season. Upon arrival, the gods will be honored with a sacrifice of cattle, and the eldest of the three brothers will take a band of warriors to go trade with the settled. If he finds an opening he may raid, only then."
The seeming leader of the elders had spoken, this time with deep authority, and what followed his words was a silence. The woman was the one clearly with the most trouble over what he said.
"The covenant is not something we should neglect. Do you not fear the dragon's wrath?"
"It has been over 40 winters since the dragon was awake. In this time, we have never neglected the covenant, nor will we, but the gods are the gods, and I fear their wrath far more if we abandon them entirely." This time he spoke in a conciliatory tone, his body stern and his face begging her to see the wisdom in his words.
The woman quivered, and the lion-skinned brother stormed out. The eldest seemed bitter about the decision but gave respect to the elders before he too left. The youngest seemed to think on something before speaking.
"What if we left early and fetched ivory for both the dragon and the gods?"
The woman, seeing new hope, gave the youngest a firm pat on the back, but —
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"ENOUGH!" The eldest in the room shut down what even the other elders would have considered a good compromise. At his outburst, the woman stormed off. Murmurs of maybes and ifs followed, as a few elders took the time to generally consider the request of the youngest. But seeing how little approval there was in how few took part in the discussion, it quickly died out.
The youngest gave a sigh but still bowed in respect before leaving.
Far off, further south, was another series of tents just like the ones for the dragon tribe. At the edge of these tribes was a lone man dressed in armor and fur. His armor was made from a vast number of plates that crossed over each other vertically, and metal gauntlets, a thick iron helmet. On his hip was a sheathed bronze sword, similar to the ones found now on young boys in the dragon tribe.
He looked out at his surroundings and thought back to the recent raids into the settled folk and compared the landscape. He smiled, knowing that the gods had city dwellers, and clearly, they favored his own. Not only were his people taller by a head on average when compared to those who lived in the cities to the west, surrounded on all sides by desert.
He, for the first time in a long time, took a moment to be grateful for the otherwise horrific extremes that his people lived through year on year. With arid summers that blew winds with the heat and strength to scorch and tear the skin, to winters where fingers freeze and snap if allowed to get wet too far from a fire to warm them in time. Unlike the fairy lands home to the pointy-eared elves that had an abundance of different types of plants, all that grew out here were wildflowers and mind-shatteringly powerful, determined shrubs and weeds. There were, of course, a few hotspots of trees to be found near the rivers that acted like natural walls, marking the territory of one tribe or another — not that it did any good considering how constant war was.
The moment a tribe wanted for anything, the immediate response was to try and take it from a neighbor. In fact, that was what was on his mind right now, turning to face an individual with a taut face, who looked more like a cadaver than a man, dressed in a thick black robe with a necklace of human finger bones. He asked again.
"Are you certain they are weak?"
"Weak, yes. Defenseless, no. They are, however, at the right moment to attack. Being that they have become half-settled for nearly a decade now, they live up north at the base of the mountains and are building farms around the rivers that run off the mountains."
Turning his attention out to the wild again, he continued, dismissing the words of the cadaver. He was not an idiot to simply believe something he was told simply because someone told him, especially not a magician like the man behind him. But he had seen it — the settled people who spent their time farming didn't know war. Not to say the settled didn't have any warriors. It was only recently, for example, that the people of the grasslands came to best the chariots of the city dwellers, and even then, it was not a guaranteed victory.
But so long as they never fought the armies the settled amassed to fight each other or stuck around too long to be schemed against, then almost certainly the grasslands could get in and out yearly without losing too many tribesmen in war. If a people like his were trying to build a new city up north, it wasn't unbelievable that there would be a period where they had lost the strength of a nomad but hadn't yet gained the strength of an army.
However —
"There are monstrous archers up north. Are these the same people?"
"These people worship the beings that live in the fairy lands but are pale imitations at best, that I promise you. With my magic, arrows are like trinkets before me. It will mean nothing, and if needed to fight on horse or foot, I can be certain it will be an easy battle for your own. And might I add that they have grown quite wealthy recently — raiding and trading here and there, it has been a good few years for them because everyone fears the monster up north."
"The monster up north?" He turned his attention casually to the cadaver but still once again did not buy too heavily into his words.
"If it was real, this tribe would be dead. Nothing to consider." These words felt wise and honest to the tribe leader. He thought of the plunder he could take, not for the wealth, but how much honor and prestige he would gain among his own by handing it out.
"That makes sense. Very well, I will scout out this easy victory," breaking out into a smile, he already visualized himself lording over the broken slaves of this defeated enemy.
