"Metal-men smell" didn't mean what my brain wanted it to mean.
Back on Earth, "metal-men" would've been an insult thrown at someone in a band, or maybe a weird gym nickname. Here, in the Greenveil forest, it meant one thing:
Humans.
The word didn't come with a picture in my head, not yet. Just impressions. Hard footsteps. Bright edges. Fire-smell. The memory of headlights, of steel, of impact—my last moment as Patrick bleeding into my first moments as Vark.
Boss didn't panic. He didn't shout. He just shifted, and the whole tribe shifted with him.
Scouts peeled off into the trees, moving like shadows. Trappers dragged bundles of rope and stakes toward the outer ring of huts. Scavengers started stuffing anything valuable into packs—dried meat, bones, shiny scraps. The wounded were hauled into deeper hollows.
The village went from messy to purposeful in the span of a few breaths.
Grub, of course, strutted around like he wanted the humans to show up so he could bite one.
"Metal-men come," he said loudly, flexing his thick arms. "Good. We take shiny."
A few goblins murmured approval, but most looked tense. Hungry. Fearful. Like animals that had smelled smoke.
Boss's good eye landed on Grub. "You shut," he said, calm as mud.
Grub shut. Mostly.
Mogrin clung to my sleeve hard enough to wrinkle the fabric. His eyes were huge.
"Vark," he whispered, breath warm and shaky. "Metal-men… big?"
"Yeah," I said. Then I added, because it was the truth: "Smart big."
Mogrin swallowed. "We hide?"
"We survive," I said. It came out harsher than I meant.
Mogrin nodded like that answered everything.
Boss's gaze swept over the tribe and landed on me. For a second I thought he was going to order me somewhere—scout, trap, drag meat, anything.
Instead he jerked his chin toward Mogrin. "Mogrin," he snapped. "You go watch with other scouts. Not die."
Mogrin's spine straightened. "Yes, Boss!"
Boss's eye flicked to me. "Vark go with. You see. You learn."
Grub made a noise of protest. "Boss, weird-head—"
Boss didn't even look at him. "Vark kill wolf," he said flatly. "You not. Vark use eyes."
That shut Grub for real.
My stomach did a slow twist. Going out toward the edge of the tribe with humans nearby felt like stepping into a meeting where you already knew you were the scapegoat.
But refusing wasn't an option. Not in a tribe like this.
Mogrin tugged me eagerly. "Come! Scout place! High high!"
He was still excited, somehow, like this was a game and not a chance to die.
We followed two wiry scouts into the forest. They didn't speak much. They moved fast and light, and I had to push my goblin body to keep up. My injured palms throbbed with each swing of my arms.
The scout path angled upward into the lower canopy, where branches were thick enough to stand on. Vine ropes—real vine, not "rope"—had been tied into crude handholds between trunks. Platforms of lashed sticks sat like nests in the crooks of giant limbs.
It was high enough that the village below became a smear of green and brown.
The scouts crouched low, noses lifted, ears angled to catch sound.
Mogrin crouched too, trying to mimic them, but he kept peeking over the edge like curiosity was a physical itch he couldn't resist scratching.
I stayed near the trunk and forced my breathing quiet.
My mind, against my will, tried to plan.
If humans approach from the wind side, scouts will spot them first. Traps will slow them. Tribe will relocate deeper.
But the forest was huge. Dense. Confusing. Humans got lost, Boss had said.
So why would they come here?
The question barely formed before Mogrin made a small triumphant sound.
"Ooo!"
One of the scouts hissed. "Quiet, Mogrin."
Mogrin clapped a hand over his mouth, but his eyes glittered.
He pointed down.
At first I thought it was just vine—something pale stretched between two roots near the outer edge of the village. Then the light hit it at a certain angle and it flashed faintly.
Not vine.
Too straight. Too smooth.
Rope.
No—line.
Thin, taut, almost invisible unless you knew where to look.
And my human brain recognized it instantly.
Tripwire.
My stomach dropped.
"That's—" I started.
Mogrin was already halfway off the platform, sliding down the trunk with the enthusiasm of a child climbing out of bed on a holiday.
"Mogrin!" one scout snapped, but Mogrin was gone.
I followed before my body could argue. I scrambled down, palms stinging as I gripped bark. I hit the ground in a crouch and immediately ran after him.
Mogrin was kneeling by the line like it was a treasure.
His fingers hovered above it with reverence.
"So pretty," he whispered. "So smooth. Not vine. Not bark. Metal-men hair?"
"It's not—" I started again, then forced the words into goblin-simple so he'd actually listen. "No touch."
Mogrin blinked at me. "Why?"
"It trap," I said. "Human trap."
Mogrin's eyes widened. "Trap? Like trappers? Wow!"
He leaned closer.
My chest tightened. "Mogrin. No."
He reached out anyway, gentle as if he was petting a bug.
His finger brushed the line.
For a breath, nothing happened.
Then something clicked.
The sound was tiny. A metal whisper. A tension releasing.
Mogrin froze, still crouched, face blank with confusion.
Then the forest answered.
A weighted log swung down from above on a rope, fast and silent, aimed perfectly at knee height—meant to smash legs, to cripple prey. It was studded with crude spikes, sharpened bone or stone embedded into the wood.
Mogrin didn't even see it coming.
My body moved.
I slammed into him from the side.
The log whooshed through the space where his spine had been and clipped my shoulder instead.
Pain exploded.
Not a bruise. A tearing impact that drove air out of me in a grunt. I rolled with Mogrin into the mud, the log swinging past and slamming into a tree trunk with a hollow thunk.
Wood splintered.
Spikes sank deep.
Mogrin stared at the log like it had personally betrayed him.
"Wha—" he croaked.
"Trap," I rasped, clutching my shoulder. My vision flickered white at the edges.
Mogrin swallowed hard, then tried to laugh, shaky and bright. "Mogrin… find trap. Mogrin good scout!"
"Idiot," I hissed.
He blinked, then looked offended. "Mogrin not idiot."
"You touch human line," I said, voice low and furious. "Human line is death."
Mogrin's ears drooped. "Mogrin… sorry."
Before I could respond, goblin voices erupted nearby.
"What noise?""Who break?""Moth come?""Fight?"
Goblins poured out from the village edge, trappers first, then scavengers, then Grub pushing through with a grin like he'd smelled entertainment.
They saw the swinging log, the taut line now slack, the torn bark on the trunk.
They saw Mogrin muddy and wide-eyed.
They saw me holding my shoulder, blood starting to seep through torn skin.
And then, because goblins were goblins, they started arguing immediately.
One trapper crouched beside the mechanism, poking it. "Not goblin trap," he muttered. "Too smooth. Too… clean."
Another goblin sniffed the line and made a face. "Smell metal-men."
Grub laughed loudly. "Ha! Mogrin pull string! Mogrin try make forest bite him!"
Mogrin bristled, defensive despite the fear. "Mogrin not! Mogrin find shiny rope! Shiny rope cool!"
"Shiny rope," Grub repeated, mocking. He grabbed the line and held it up, letting it glint faintly. "Look! Grub find shiny rope too! Grub smart!"
The trappers hissed at him. "No touch! Maybe more trap!"
Grub ignored them. "We take. We use. Metal-men dumb leave shiny."
I forced myself upright, shoulder screaming.
"It's a tripwire," I said.
The word came out too clean.
Heads turned toward me.
Grub's grin widened. "Weird-head know big word."
"It's human gear," I said, forcing the meaning through the pain. "They set this here. If we touch, it makes noise. It tells them. It hurts us."
A few goblins stared, uncertain.
Then someone snorted. "Vark talk like Boss," one muttered, not as praise.
Grub scoffed. "Human not here. Human far. Scout smell only."
I clenched my jaw. "Trap is here. That means humans were here. Recently."
Silence for half a second.
Then goblin logic kicked in.
"Then shiny near," someone said, eyes gleaming.
"Treasure!" another whispered.
"Metal-men drop stuff," a third said, licking lips.
My stomach sank.
They weren't hearing danger. They were hearing opportunity.
Boss arrived a moment later, moving with calm that made everyone quiet by instinct. His good eye took in the scene: the snapped line, the swinging log, the splintered trunk, Mogrin's muddy face, my bleeding shoulder.
His gaze lingered on me.
"You bleed," he said flatly.
"Small," I lied, because admitting weakness in front of Grub felt like handing him a knife.
Boss's eye narrowed. "Not small."
Grub laughed. "Weird-head save Mogrin again. Weird-head love Mogrin."
Mogrin puffed up. "Vark good."
Boss ignored Grub and crouched to inspect the trap. His fingers brushed the line, careful, like he'd learned the hard way.
"Human," he said after sniffing. "Yes."
The village murmured again, nervous now.
Boss looked at Mogrin. "You touch?"
Mogrin's ears flattened. "Mogrin… touch little."
Boss sighed—a rough sound, like air scraped through gravel. "Mogrin," he said, and there was disappointment in it. "You scout. You watch. Not touch."
Mogrin nodded rapidly. "Yes, Boss. Mogrin sorry."
Boss stood and looked at the trappers. "Find more," he ordered. "Now."
Trappers scattered, fanning out like spiders.
Boss looked at me again. "You say noise tell human," he said.
"Yes," I said. "It… alerts them." I simplified quickly. "It say: something here."
Boss grunted. "Then metal-men maybe come."
Grub's eyes lit up. "Good! We ambush! We take shiny!"
Boss's gaze snapped to Grub. "You want fight metal-men?" Boss asked quietly.
Grub puffed up. "Yes."
Boss tilted his head. "Then you go stand by trap. Alone. You wait."
The goblins snickered. Grub's bravado faltered.
Boss's voice hardened. "Metal-men kill easy. Metal-men cut head. Metal-men burn. You think you strong? You not."
Grub's jaw clenched, but he backed down. "Boss talk too fear."
Boss stepped closer until his shadow fell over Grub. "Boss talk live," he said. "You talk die."
Grub swallowed and looked away.
Boss turned to the scouts. "Wind," he said. "Smell again."
One scout climbed a root, lifted his nose, and listened.
His ears twitched.
His expression changed.
"Metal-men… closer," he said. "Hear… clink."
Clink.
Metal.
My stomach tightened.
Boss's posture didn't change much, but the tribe around him did—spines stiffening, hands gripping weapons, eyes darting.
Boss spoke rapidly in clipped goblin-speech, giving orders. "Hide young. Move meat. No fire. No noise."
Goblins scattered like startled birds.
Mogrin grabbed my sleeve again, trembling. "Vark," he whispered, voice thin. "We… we make noise. Metal-men come because Mogrin."
I looked at his face—wide eyes, guilt, fear. He was a kid, basically. A naive scout who'd found something shiny and wanted to be useful.
My shoulder throbbed. Blood seeped down my arm.
I exhaled slowly. "Maybe," I said. Then, softer: "Not only you. Humans come anyway. We just… make it faster."
Mogrin swallowed. "Vark mad?"
I wanted to say yes. I wanted to shake him. I wanted to scream at the forest for turning my second life into teeth and blood.
Instead I said, "I'm alive. You alive. That's good."
Mogrin's eyes shone. "Big-think," he whispered, like it was comfort.
Boss's gaze cut toward the outer trees. He raised a hand. Everyone stilled.
The forest held its breath.
At first I heard nothing. Then—faint, distant—there was a sound that didn't belong here.
A soft clink. A scrape. A muffled cough.
Human sounds, filtered through leaves.
Boss hissed, "Down. Hide."
Goblins melted into shadows. Trappers vanished into roots. Scavengers slipped behind huts. Even Grub ducked, suddenly very interested in not being seen.
I crouched behind a thick root with Mogrin pressed against me, both of us trying not to breathe too loud.
Between the trees, through gaps in fern and shadow, shapes moved.
Not goblin-small.
Tall.
Upright.
I saw flashes of pale skin through leaves. The dull gleam of metal. A lantern hooded to keep light low. Boots sinking into mud.
"Track ends here," a voice murmured—human language, muffled but clear enough that my brain recognized words.
Another voice answered, "Something tripped it. Fresh."
My heart hammered.
Boss's good eye watched from a higher root, unblinking.
The humans moved cautiously, scanning, weapons drawn.
One of them—a man with a short spear and a leather coat—crouched by the snapped line. He touched it, frowned, then looked up at the splintered tree where the log had slammed.
"Someone got clipped," he muttered. "Blood."
His gaze swept the underbrush.
I pressed my bleeding shoulder tighter against the root, trying to stop the seep.
Mogrin trembled so hard his teeth clicked.
I leaned in and hissed in his ear, "No sound."
He nodded frantically.
The human spear-man stood and signaled with two fingers. The group shifted formation.
Professional.
Efficient.
Not lost. Not confused. Like they'd done this a hundred times.
They started moving in, deeper toward the village.
Boss didn't move. He waited. Let them commit.
Then, from somewhere deeper in the forest, a low sound rolled through the trees.
Not a human voice.
Not goblin.
A growl so deep it felt like the ground itself vibrated.
Every goblin around me went rigid.
Boss's head turned slightly, ears angling, and for the first time I saw something like annoyance flicker across his face.
Because the growl didn't sound like something reacting to humans.
It sounded like something that had been waiting for any excuse to hunt.
The humans froze too, heads snapping toward the sound.
"What was that?" one whispered.
Another answered quietly, "Big."
The moths—those pale glimmers—began drifting in from the direction of the earlier fight, their faint lights winking between leaves like hungry eyes returning to a dinner table.
And somewhere in the dark beyond the humans, something moved.
Not fast.
Not hidden.
Heavy enough that branches creaked under its weight.
The forest, beautiful and calm a moment ago, suddenly felt like a mouth closing.
Mogrin's fingers dug into my sleeve.
"Vark," he breathed, voice barely there. "Something… big in dark."
The growl came again, closer.
And the humans, still near the snapped tripwire, started moving in—right toward the village—just as the darkness behind them began to move too.