The More Land, The Better!

"Do you perceive this as a matter of urgency?"

With a tone of earnest appeal, Logan addressed his kin, "My esteemed Uncle, this isn't a matter of fleeting urgency but one of survival. In the grander scheme of our people's history, the larger tribes may find luxury in the abundance of time, yet for our humble enclave, each tick of the clock is a precious gem, not to be squandered by any means."

He continued, a note of desperation creeping into his voice, "My anxiety isn't born from impatience but from the weight of over two thousand souls that look up to us for guidance and protection. It's this very burden that propels my urgency."

"Our situation is precarious," Logan added, his voice growing firm, "Shall we wait until our granaries are bare and the shadow of other tribes looms large at our doorstep to acknowledge our plight?"

He looked squarely at his uncles, the gravity of his next words hanging heavily in the air, "Should calamity befall us, it won't merely be my downfall as your chief, but a shared catastrophe. Thus, I implore you, Uncle Begon, Uncle Reynolds, to see beyond the immediate - our strategies are not for my glory alone but for our collective future." His gaze, icy and penetrating, sought to pierce through any facade of indifference.

The reactions of Begon and Reynolds to Logan's words were telling; Begon's brow furrowed in concern, while Reynolds's expression soured with disdain.

"Enough," Logan finally declared, his voice leaving no room for rebuttal, "Attend to your duties." His finality signaled the end of the discussion, expecting compliance without further discourse.

...

The undercurrent of tension was unmistakable as Begon and Reynolds exited the chamber, their steps in unison yet minds worlds apart. Begon was lost in thought, troubled by the weight of their conversation, while Reynolds bristled with indignation.

Unable to contain his frustration, Reynolds finally vented, "Elder brother, are we to simply yield and let this young upstart trample over us?" His voice was a mix of anger and disbelief, recalling how he had been sidelined in the succession, his efforts and ambitions overshadowed by familial bias.

Reynolds ruminated on the past, how the mantle of leadership passed to his nephew in a twist of fate that seemed to mock his own aspirations. He lamented the stark disparity in their father's affections and the veiled threats that hung over him like a sword of Damocles.

Yet, despite his grievances, Reynolds's defiance was curbed by the unassailable presence of their father, a titan whose authority was unchallengeable.

"And what alternative do we have?" Begon's response was a chilling whisper, stopping dead in his tracks. His question, though softly spoken, carried the weight of a dire warning, "Are you contemplating rebellion?"

The accusation caught Reynolds off guard, fear momentarily eclipsing his rage as he scanned their surroundings for eavesdroppers. Confronted with Begon's stark gaze, Reynolds found himself at a loss, the reality of their predicament dawning upon him in the harshest light.

"If such words were to travel through the grapevine and reach the ears of our father, the retribution would be swift and severe."

With a scornful snort, Begon fixed Reynolds with a look that mingled contempt with pity. "Rebellion? Spare me the theatrics, brother. If you don't have the courage you, at least should spare us the facade of defiance."

Begon's disdain was visible, his frustration with Reynolds only mitigated by their familial ties. "Instead of nursing delusions of grandeur, why not dedicate yourself to your training? Ascend beyond the sixth level, and you might yet dictate the future of our tribe."

His words, sharp as arrows, left little room for interpretation. "Or perhaps, hold your tongue. Logan speaks a hard truth: the Silver Mane Tribe's fate is a collective concern, not a personal throne to aspire for. Without our tribe, we are but shadows, devoid of legacy."

With that, Begon hastened his steps, leaving a simmering Reynolds in his wake, whose mix of anger and helplessness boiled over into a single, venomous utterance, "Coward!"

The accusation hung in the air. Once allies, now divided by visions of what it meant to lead, to protect.

Reynolds's frustration was a fire within, yet marred by the reality of his own limitations. The aspiration to transcend to the sixth level mocked him, a goal as he had chased after for a long time yet was still far from his grasp.

...

As weeks turned into months, the Silver Mane Tribe continued its relentless toil under the shadow of loss, their lands steadily reborn through sweat and determination. Logan, leading with a vision of bold pragmatism, orchestrated the planting of crops that promised sustenance and hope.

The community rallied, transforming barren fields into burgeoning sources of life. Potatoes and sweet potatoes, symbols of their resilience, broke ground, heralding a future of abundance.

Even the challenge of sustaining their livestock found resolution through compromise and collaboration. Begon, swayed by duty over discord, facilitated the enlistment of hands eager to contribute, though fewer than requested.

And in the heart of their endeavors thrived the rabbitry, an initiative that sparked curiosity and wonder amongst the tribe. The introduction of common white rabbits into a world familiar only with their monstrous kin was a novelty that even drew Begon's interest.

Thus, amidst the struggles and triumphs, the Silver Mane Tribe wove together the threads of survival and unity, each day a step towards a future forged from the legacies of their ancestors and the dreams of those yet to come.

Amidst the expanse of the wasteland, a voice pierced the quiet, "Lord Chief, Lord Begon seeks your presence!"

Logan, hands deep in the earth, planting the future one sweet potato seedling at a time, looked up as Cobos approached, breathless with urgency. Close behind, the towering figure of Begon emerged, his gaze landing on Logan with a mixture of surprise and contemplation.

Despite knowing of Logan's hands-on leadership, witnessing the chief, a formidable Beastmen standing nearly nine feet tall, tenderly nurturing the land, left Begon momentarily taken aback. The physical toll of such labor on their large frames was not insignificant, a fact not lost on him.

Shaking off the dirt from his hands, Logan greeted his uncle, "Uncle Begon, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Begon, surveying the vast stretch of reclaimed land, delivered his news, "The reclamation of a thousand acres is complete. It's time to consider the next steps."

The sheer scale of their achievement, two thousand acres of land stretching beyond sight, was a testament to their ambition and hard work. It impressed even Begon, accustomed as he was to the tribe's resilience.

Logan, momentarily taken aback, quickly regained his composure, "Is that so? Then let's adjust our forces accordingly. Keep the planters on task but pull back the rest."

He clarified his vision for the future, emphasizing the continuation of their expansion efforts. Over a hundred planters, many of whom bore the wisdom of years, were dedicated to this cause, a small but significant force in the grand scheme.

Begon's astonishment at the prospect of continuing to expand their holdings was palpable, "Continue? But haven't we reached our goal with a thousand acres?"

Logan, undeterred, outlined his grand vision, "We must press on. The land we've reclaimed is but a fraction of what we'll need. Imagine the possibilities with tens, even hundreds of thousands of acres under cultivation."

This ambition, staggering in its scope, left Begon wrestling with doubt. The current numbers couldn't possibly support such a massive undertaking. Yet, where Begon saw obstacles, Cobos saw opportunity, invigorated by the prospect of overseeing an ever-expanding domain.