"Careful, boy," the man said, his voice dull. "Temper gets you killed. Or worse, robbed." Finnian drew his own sword quickly, stepping between Kael and the man. "Who are you?" The man shrugged, tucking the locket into a hidden pouch in his coat. "A survivor. Like yourselves, I would suppose. But one who has learned how to make use of what's left behind." He eyed their tattered Ranger tunics, now grimy and torn. Sarcasm dripped from his voice as he stated what he thought of the boys. "Former Rangers, by the look of it. And deserters, I would wager. What brings you to this particular patch of misery, boys? Looking for lost honor?" "Our mother," Kael replied, his voice a low growl. "We're looking for our mother. She was here when the village was burnt."

The Bloodfang Chieftain, a hulking goblin named Ironjaw, listened to Grimgut’s proposal with a sneer. "Attack the big human nest? You've gone soft, Shadowfang. We hide. We survive." "How many have you lost this cycle, Ironjaw?" Grimgut countered, his voice low and steady. "How many babes snatched? How many hunters never returned?" Ironjaw’s sneer faltered. His tribe had suffered heavily. "Even together, we are but gnats against their giants." "Gnats can carry plague," Boneknuckle rasped, stepping forward. "We do not seek to conquer. We seek to make them see us. To make them understand the cost of their sport. To make them stop."