The jungle was being cut down, every single day, every single night, regardless of the weather, regardless of how many dirt-bloods fell, the deforestation continued without, barely ever slowing down as a result of the efforts of the elves.
And there was a new problem, the dirt-blooded leader could spot the elves laying ambushes, after the scout had been slain by a javelin, their focus and wariness reached a new height, they had always been exceedingly careful, taught from infancy that being afraid was a good thing, that it would drive them toward living, steer them away from an early grave.
But even then, they had been too complacent, one of their own was spotted and swiftly murdered before he could even react, his body was denied a proper burial, and instead dragged away, to be devoured whole by the very monster who had killed him, worst of all, she gloated about it, provoking them.
