A heavy silence hung over the great mansion hall as we convened to finally lay all secrets bare. Dave and Prily sat before Timothee and I, their expressions a mixture of apprehension and resignation.
“Who authorized the trading of our sacred herbs and ingredients to the Riverwalk tribe in the first place?” I demanded, unable to keep the biting edge from my tone. Playing at diplomacy would only allow more lies to fester.
Dave visibly flinched at the directness of my query, but to his credit, he did not prevaricate.

“It was I who initiated contact with their healers, though it began simply as an effort to obtain knowledge,” he admitted, clasping his hands tightly. “When I learned of the degenerative curse plaguing their elders, I...I foolishly thought I could strike a trade agreement to access ingredients for a potential remedy.”
Shame colored his features as he hung his head with a weary sigh. “My intentions were pure, but my methods were unforgivably reckless. I should have brought the issue before the council instead of acting unilaterally out of desperation.”
“And you, Prily,” I said, turning to fix the young warrior with an intense stare. “What knowledge did you bring to this matter that enabled Dave’s transgressions to go overlooked?”
Prily seemed to shrink back under the weight of my censorious gaze. When she spoke, her voice was scarcely above a tremulous whisper.
“I...I first began researching the ancient blood curses after my own grandmother fell victim to a wasting sickness none could identify or treat.” She wrung her hands anxiously, avoiding my eyes. “My studies led me to an old legend speaking of a creeping spiritual affliction passed down over generations.”
Timothee spoke up, “This illness ain’t no generational curse passed down through the bloodline. Nah, it’s a whole different beast - someone out there is cooking up this nasty bugger behind our backs.”

His words hung heavy in the air, their implication as disturbing as it was puzzling. Rather than an ancestral affliction, we were dealing with an engineered pestilence whose origins remained shrouded in mystery.
Timothee’s gaze swept across us, his expression grave. “Make no mistake, there’s a fox in the hen house, working their dark magic to bring our people to their knees.”
“So the question ain’t ‘who let this snake slither into our garden?’” Timothee continued, his voice taking on a hard edge. “But rather, ‘who amongst us has been pulling the wool over our eyes while this evil took root?’”
My blood ran cold at his thinly veiled insinuation. An infiltrator, a turncoat walking among us - it was nearly too horrific to fathom. And yet, the pieces fell into place like a sickening game of discernment.

“Well if that’s the case, what’s our play to smoke out this snake in the grass, Timothee?” I asked sharply, my voice edged with urgency.
Timothee’s jaw tightened as he pondered my question. Finally, he met my gaze head-on, a wolfish gleam in his eyes.
“We start turning over every rock and kicking every anthill until something slithers out,” he growled. “No stone left unturned, no matter how small or insignificant it may seem.”
“This betrayal cuts deep, make no mistake,” Timothee continued, sweeping those piercing eyes across us. “Whoever’s been playing both sides of the fence won’t give up their safe foothold lightly.”
His hand strayed to the carved bone handle of the hunting knife on his belt, thumb caressing the woven leather wrappings in an unconscious gesture of readiness.
“We’ll need to be as sly as a fox ourselves to outwit this rabid jackal,” he mused grimly. “Chart every mouse trail, study every spider’s web, because that’s where the clues will be lurking.”
Despite the sober weight of his words, I could feel the familiar tingle of the hunter’s thrill, the intoxicating lure of the imminent chase. This was what our blood sang for.
Letting out a long breath, I gave a terse nod. “Whoever they are, they’re about to realize they just pricked a hibernating bear. No more pulling punches.”
Timothee shot Dave a pointed look. “Dave, get the smoke signals going to Riverwalk by hook or by crook. We need to set up a powwow with their chiefs on the double, ‘cause there’s a bigger fish to fry here.”
His eyes hardened like flint as he stressed the gravity of the situation. “If we don’t get a rope around this raging bull soon, it’s gonna start goring every last shifter in its path. The fairy-kin are sitting ducks - this plague keeps stampeding, they’ll be driven clear off the face of these lands before you can say ‘gone like a puff of pixie dust’.”
Dave acknowledged the seriousness of Timothee’s words with a grave nod. This was more than a local problem - it was a potential catastrophe for some of the oldest and most fragile shapeshifter lineages.
“Consider it done,” Dave responded, his voice brooking no disagreement. “I’ll send an urgent message to Riverwalk’s lookouts. We’ll have their leaders on their way to us before the sun sets tomorrow.”
Timothee gave a brief nod, appearing to relax slightly now that plans were being enacted. However, his face still held a fierce determination.
“Good. We need to prepare for a storm and gather all available forces for this battle. Because if those villains think they can sneak into our mountain stronghold and attack the core of the shapeshifter world...” His eyes flashed menacingly. “They’re in for a rude awakening, and it’s not going to be pleasant.”
Upon hearing the Lycan’s rationale, I was struck dumb. My thoughts were whirling, considering how effortlessly he could escalate a dicey circumstance into a grave one, and how smoothly he could suggest Dave to extend an invitation to the head of Riverwalk. Meanwhile, the real culprit who stirred the pot remains a mystery. The situation is like a ticking time bomb, ready to explode at any moment.
“You really think reaching out to Riverwalk will move the needle on this, Timmy?” I asked skeptically, shooting Timothee a questioning look. However, he just flashed me a reassuring smile and gave my hair an affectionate ruffle.
“Someone’s got their hackles up today, huh sweetie?” he replied with a lighthearted chuckle. “Don’t get your tail in a twist. Did you have a scuffle with a bear this morning and forget all about your magic lessons with the Dwarf Altairs?”
His eyes danced with good-natured teasing as he tried to calm the bristling energy I was putting off. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Timothee could always find a way to rein me back in when my emotions started getting the better of me.
I let out a long exhale, feeling some of the tightly-coiled tension unspooling from my shoulders at his familiar antics. As maddening as his laid-back demeanor could be at times, it was also one of the balancing forces that kept me grounded.
“You know I just get fired up when our people’s safety is on the line,” I replied, unable to keep the defensive edge out of my tone entirely.
“Forgive me for wanting to get on the warpath against any snakes who think they can slither into our den.”
Timothee’s expression softened as he recognized the roots of my agitation stemming from a protective place. Giving my arm a comforting squeeze, he spoke in a quieter, more resolute register.
“I hear you, love. Truly. But you know as well as I that losing our cool heads is the surest way to fumble this. We can’t just go kick the hornet’s nest without a solid game plan.”
His words rang with the wisdom and strategic mindset that made him such an effective leader. As fiercely as my instincts wanted to rush headlong into battle mode, Timothee was right - rash actions now could easily undermine our efforts.
“You’re right...” I admitted with a resigned sigh. “As usual, cooler heads will prevail. I’ll rein it in and make sure I’ve got a level head before my magic lessons.”
Timothee rewarded me with one of his signature lopsided grins, the one that never failed to make my heart flutter ever so slightly. “There’s my girl. Now go on and give those dwarves something to write home about. I’ll keep pressing on this snakes proposition.”