Baneck carefully tapped the rune into the cooling lump of iron, under Honee’s watchful gaze.  On the other side of the forge, Granholm lifted a similar piece of iron out of the steaming water.  He broke the metal apart, revealing the silvery dragon’s scale contained within.

In the orange glow of the forge’s fire, there glittered tiny, silvery specks within the iron.

Baneck could feel Honee’s attention shift from him, as she watched the process.

In the other corner, Torsar broke apart a similar piece of iron into smaller and smaller fragments.

He crushed and sifted the fragments over and over, isolating the minute glittering particles, until he emptied them into a small ceramic bowl, like dust made of diamond.  Beside Torsar’s table sat little amber vials, where he collected the final product.

“That’s your secret, isn’t it?” she asked Baneck.  “You’ve been adding those flakes to your steel.  That’s how your crafts are stronger than most, even though you can’t afford more orgite.  Even your mundane items that weren’t carved with runes have more strength and that extra little bit of shine, eh?”

“I’m impressed,” she added.  “But how did you ever -?”

“Sh!”  Granholm snapped at her.  “We don’t talk about it.  It was Father Tungstil who discovered how to draw the flakes out of the scales.”

“What was that mark you carved on the iron?” she asked Baneck.

“A Wintermore rune that appeared in my tattoo.  It means ‘conquer’, and draws more flakes out than covering it with the iron alone.”

“Oh-ho.  How did you make a rune do that?”

“You know, I’ve wondered.  And to be honest, I don’t know. It just came to mind the same as the runes on Tungstil.  I was staring at my Mark on a moonlit night, and thinking about what I needed to do.  And this rune stood out.  It just became more visible amid all the lines and things.”

“So you made a magical thing come to you.”

“No, I don’t know how it happened.”  He tapped his skull with his fingertips.  “It just popped in there.”

She looked between the three men.

“Unfortunately,” Baneck continued, “I’m the only one who can carve it.”

<*>                                                          <*>                                                      <*>

In the undercity, Sye-nitch watched as a very unhappy Tolga – one of the division commanders of the Druntuss tribe – looked on, as foot soldiers were picked out to replace the packs lost above-ground.

After he had heard about the loss of Bloggo’s pack, he had not taken it well.  Their tribe could not be strong if they were losing fighters, especially in view of their closest rivals, the Blister-foot tribe.

In a large chamber that was part natural cave, Tolga had come down to count the Wander-packs – the ones assigned to walk the interior of the forest – and make sure the division’s roster was full.

A slight green light permeated the space, from the little pools of magical liquid dotting the floor alongside the shrooms.  Sye-nitch stayed several steps away from the goop.  The dimly-glowing substance fueled the shrooms in the chambers, and allowed their passage between the undercity and the forest.

As much as it disgusted him, though, it disgusted Tolga more.  He hated even being near the stuff, Sye-nitch knew, for it reminded him of the uppity dark wizards influencing their ranks.

So it was not the best time for Imep, the company leader, to come up to him, with pack-leader Bug-toe alongside, sporting a crude bandage on his right arm, to tell of his battle.

Sye-nitch watched with anxious eyes.

“You lost your pack, and you have the guts to ask for more?!” Tolga growled.

“We need to get revenge!” Bug-toe demanded.

Sye-nitch nearly laughed out loud.  The upstart fool was daring to make light of his failure.  Or rather, he was trying to distract from his defeat, by calling for retribution.

“And you let so many of us be seen,” Tolga whispered all too clearly.

The warm blood flooded Bug-toe’s cheeks, radiating the flush of fear.

Sye-nitch barely saw Bug-toe’s weapon-hand twitch, like a cornered animal.  But he kept still.

“You ain’t gettin’ another Gather-pack!” Tolga grated at him.  “Yer with the Wander-packs now!”  He turned to Imep, “Find him a spot!”

To Bug-toe he said, “Get out of my sight before Croll shows up.”

The mention of the regiment commander silenced the bungler, and he obediently followed the company leader.

Sye-nitch quietly went back through the dwarf-built avenues.  His fellow lookout, Gwull, had been in Bug-toe’s pack.  Well, better Gwull than him.

His steps made a slight echo on the cold stone floor, as if the halls were making noise just for him.

Kruss – another lookout from another Gather-pack – asked what had put such a spring in his step, when he reached the massive moss-beds where the drip-berries were grown.

“Just thinking of something,” he said.  “And I came to tell you something.”

He briefly related what had happened in the shroom-chamber.

“It’s better to leave this one bunch of humans alone.”

Kruss tried to act like he was considering the words.  He was a newbie; but he knew the fate of Sye-nitch’s first pack.

And as Sye-nitch had anticipated, he agreed.  With that, they both settled back, to see about sampling some of the raw drip-berry nectar, before it was taken off to be distilled.