This will do.

Thraask gave the order in his gruff voice. The word went quickly and quietly, and they set up camp with little ceremony. He worked methodically but his mind was elsewhere. Each stride carried the weight of decisions made, the lives altered. He paused, allowing himself a rare moment of reflection, feeling the gravity of their newfound freedom yet the heavy cost it demanded.

Here in a dark thicket deep in the forest there was plenty of concealment. Not that they need worry, there wasn’t a soul within two hundred miles that didnt believe the forest was haunted and no amount of gold, silver, or jewels would entice anyone to spend much time in the murky darkness of this forest.

They made surprisingly little noise for a troope this large, 140 able bodies both male and female. More than double if you count the young.

Thraask took a few mental notes for later and then retreated into the darkness. Back along their trail he scanned for signs that would point their path to any who might be seeking them.

The game trails were well worn and left few clues that his party had passed through. They did well considering the haste and sheer numbers.

He jogged back along the path, reaching the road in the darkness the remants of the hunters moon peaking over the mountains in the distance. Not that he needed the light his eyese were sharper on the darkest of nights and he preferred it to the daylight.

As Thraask left the quiet cover of the forest, the familiar sight of the valley unfolded before him. As he moved from the shadowed quiet cover of the trees to the open, starlit sky he thought about the work ahead and the journey to come.

“Three days” he thought “then total darkness.” They’d need to move quickly to make the black mountains by winter. They only had 2 months till they could expect the first snow.

He came over the crest of the hill and looked down into the valley that had been his home for so long.

This was a beautiful place, nearly 400 acres surrounded by cliffs it butted up to the high mountains to the west.

His kin worked in those mountains but he didn’t stop to think how different things might have been if he had stayed in the mining camps. There was work to be done.

Fortunately a lot had already been done. The cordwood and logs were stacked against the southern wall of the manor high and deep - in anticipation of the coming winter. The seasoned logs from a great oak Thrask had felled last summer. This would burn slow and hot - it seemed like such a waste - they could have made great charcoal for the forge but that didnt matter now.

He hoisted the carcasses of the two family dogs onto his shoulders and carried them into his chambers. Dropping them with silent thud to the floor.

The only sliver of emotion Thraask showed was now and it was fleeting - you’d not have noticed the momentary look before he steeled himself for what came next.

Those dogs had protected him, his kin and the masters children from bear and wolves. Killing them had been hard but there was too much at stake.

He turned and headed to the barn. The master was always prepared and these barns had provisions and stores to weather any winter or season or famine. There was hay that would carry them through two winters and Thrask got to work.

He mved silently in his calfskin boots. Jogging back and forth as he stacked the bales around the manor 6 feet high and 15 feet thick. Then he went back for the pitch. They had a natural seeping point in a cavern on the western wall of the valley and the master had barrells of pitch in the shed, as Thrask emptied each one his awareness sharpened - listening intently for any noise within but the house was silent.

The empty barrells he stacked in the slaves quarters with more bales of hay floor to ceiling he stacked it leaving space for the air to flow around it.

Thraask was tired. He only had a few more hours till sunrise and he wanted to get off the road, back under the cover of the forest.

With the doors secured, Thraask moved swiftly to the next task. Each step was precise, his actions a silent dance with time. The flicker of the torch in his hand cast long shadows as he approached the manor the great mountains of stone reflecting his resolve.

As he jogged away, out of the valley, he could hear the screams and calls for help. The fire was truly a site to behold in all its beauty and terrible glory. A necessary sacrifice and a step towards lasting freedom.

The valley would mask the flames from of any nearby farms and the natural mists that hung low on these mountains would hide the smoke until his people were long gone.

It is a strange feeling being free. The brands that scared his body were no longer held by any living person who could lay claim to him.

If they could make the black mountains by winter they’d take shelter and let snow and ice and time cover their tracks for good.

And they all slept. A free people at last .