Thrag Rootwhisper stood at the edge of her dying tribe's camp and knew she had to find help before winter. Her people were too few now. Outsiders had cut trees along the eastern ridge, and each new stump pushed her tribe deeper into the woods. She meant to unite the scattered goblin tribes under one banner. But she did not know where a single other tribe roamed. The forest stretched dark and endless in every direction. She packed three days of dried root and left before dawn. By the second night, her food was gone. She had walked in circles. She recognized her own bootprints in the mud, and her stomach ached. Wandering blind, she would starve before she found anyone. Then she smelled fruit. Sweet and bright, cutting through the wet-leaf air. She followed the scent to a clearing and stopped. A tree grew there, heavy with orange fruit and glossy leaves. Ripe fruit in the cold season, which no forest tree should bear. Someone had planted it. Someone had stayed. Beside the tree stood a small traveling tent, its cloth striped in faded gold and blue, worn soft by long use. Two packs hung from its sides. Whoever lived here had crossed much ground. A squirrel darted down the trunk. Its fur was not fur but silver scales, and tiny horns curled from its head. It dropped a fruit at Thrag's feet and watched her with a blue eye. Thrag knelt slowly. She had never seen such a creature. It let her take the fruit. She bit deep, and juice ran down her chin. Her hunger eased at once. "That tree feeds every traveler who finds it," said a voice behind her. Thrag spun. A figure stood at the tent flap, wrapped in a road-stained cloak. Not a stranger's face, but the face of her own kind. A Forrest Goblin, older, with a map rolled under one arm. "You're far from any tribe," the stranger said. "You walked past three trail markers and missed them all." "There are markers?" Thrag stood, her heart pounding. "The old paths. Grown over now, but I know them." The stranger unrolled the map on the ground. Lines and marks covered the hide. Tribes. Clearings. Water. "I've walked to seven tribes. I can show you where they roam." Thrag stared at the map. Everything she needed was drawn on that hide. Her whole plan, suddenly possible. "Show me," she said. "I mean to bring them together. The outsiders are coming." The stranger's eyes narrowed. "Bring them together? The nearest tribe drove out the last goblin who tried that. They'll want your head before your words." Thrag looked at the map, at the tribe marked closest. She had found her direction. She had also found her first enemy.