At Ashwell, Khao'khen received the Verakh report of the Tallow Creek engagement with the attention that every development received.

"The pinkskin king destroyed the barbarian supply wagons," Sakh'arran said. "Fourteen hundred Threian dead. Two thousand barbarian dead. The barbarian advance is delayed by three days until dwarven resupply arrives."

"Three days," Khao'khen said. "Three days of delay at the cost of fourteen hundred soldiers and nine percent of their remaining boomstick ammunition. The mathematics."

"The mathematics say the kingdom can afford approximately three more engagements of this type before the boomstick ammunition is exhausted entirely. Three more small victories that each cost more than they produce. The kingdom is winning battles and losing the campaign."

"The same pattern the kingdom used against us at the start. They won individual engagements and lost the strategic position. The barbarians are teaching them the same lesson we taught them, using different weapons."

Khao'khen looked at the map. The barbarian column was three days delayed but not stopped. The Snowe dominion had held but could not project force beyond its walls. The king's army was winning engagements and losing strength. Aldrath's combined force was watching the Horde at Ashwell and could not be redirected without exposing the capital.

"The exhaustion is approaching," Sakh'arran said. "Both sides are weakening. The barbarians are losing supply wagons. The kingdom is losing ammunition. The convergence that we have been waiting for is approximately three to four weeks away at current rates."

* * * * *

"Zug zug," Krak'thul said, from the 4th Warband's section of the camp where the warrior had established what amounted to a personal intelligence analysis station consisting of a flat rock, the Verakh reports, and a charcoal stick for making marks on the rock that represented troop movements. "The pinkskins burned the barbarian wagons! Grombash! Well done, pinkskins! But then the pinkskins lost fourteen hundred soldiers doing it! Thrak'gul! Rock-brained! The pinkskins trade soldiers for wagons and the wagons are replaced in three days and the soldiers are replaced in never!"

"Krak'thul's analysis is surprisingly precise," Sakh'arran observed, passing the warrior's position during his camp inspection.

"Krak'thul's analysis is always precise. The rock does not lie. The rock shows the truth. The truth is that the pinkskins are buying time with blood and the price of time is increasing and the blood is finite. Krak'thul learned this from watching the chief fight the pinkskins for four months. The chief taught Krak'thul that finite things run out and that running out is the moment when the party with more things wins."

"The chief did not explicitly teach you strategic resource analysis."

"The chief taught by example. Krak'thul observed the examples. The examples were: make the enemy spend their things faster than you spend yours. The pinkskins spent their arrows against our Tohr'terra. The pinkskins spent their mages against our Golden Wolf. Now the pinkskins spend their boomstick balls against barbarian supply wagons that come back in three days. The pattern is the same. The pinkskins are good at spending things. They are bad at noticing when the things are almost gone."

Krak'thul made another mark on his rock and returned to his analysis.

The camp waited. The wolf watched. The arithmetic continued its relentless convergence toward the point where the Horde's patience would produce the position that the Horde's military operations had been building toward since the day the campaign began: the position of the only intact force in a region of exhausted combatants, ready to negotiate or conquer depending on which option the exhaustion's survivors chose.

"We wait," Khao'khen said, at the evening's assessment. His words were acknowledged. It was best for them to wait with the current campaign's ongoing condition. The campaign continued. The wolf continued. The patience continued. And the convergence approached, one day at a time, one engagement at a time, one irreplaceable boomstick ball at a time.

Dhug'mhar, who had been receiving the Verakh reports through the chieftain's briefing channel that Sakh'arran maintained for the Horde's senior leadership, added his assessment from the Rumbling Clan's camp.

"The pinkskin king is doing what the pinkskin generals did against us," Dhug'mhar said. "Winning small victories that cost more than they produce. Perfection observed this pattern when the pinkskins won individual engagements against the Horde and lost the campaign's strategic position with each victory. The pattern is the pattern of a force that can win fights but cannot win the war because winning the fights consumes the resources that winning the war requires."

"Perfection's strategic analysis has improved," Graka observed. 𝕗𝚛𝚎𝚎𝐰𝗲𝗯𝗻𝚘𝚟𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝕞

"Perfection's strategic analysis was always excellent. Perfection simply did not previously provide strategic commentary because strategic commentary was not within Perfection's operational range. Perfection's operational range has expanded because the strategic pause has provided Perfection with the time to observe the patterns that operational tempo previously obscured."

"Perfection observed patterns while other warriors trained," Arka'garr said, from the 1st Warband's adjacent position, the words carrying the specific tone that the 1st Warband master used for observations that were simultaneously accurate and disapproving.

"Perfection trained AND observed. Perfection's multitasking capability is, like all of Perfection's capabilities, without peer."

The camp maintained its routine. The Roarers were cleaned and tested. The Rhakaddons were exercised. The siege equipment was maintained by the ogres' patient guardianship. The spear wall drills continued under Arka'garr's supervision, the Rakshas maintaining the formation integrity that the campaign's battles had demonstrated to be the Horde's most devastating tactical asset.

The Amazzfer sat at the camp's center, the Golden Wolf across his knees, the totem's bearer's wounds healing in the rest that the camp's defensive posture allowed. The golden shimmer was dormant but present, the warriors' belief in their chieftain sustaining the totem's potential the way a banked fire sustained its heat.

"Three to four weeks," Sakh'arran said. "The convergence approaches. The barbarians' momentum will slow as their supply lines extend deeper into Threian territory. The kingdom's resistance will weaken as the ammunition stockpile diminishes. Both forces will approach the threshold of exhaustion. When both reach the threshold, the Horde's position is strongest."

"And if one side reaches the threshold before the other?" Khao'khen asked.

"Then the side that has not reached the threshold wins the northeastern campaign and faces the Horde from a position of reduced strength. Either way, the Horde negotiates from strength. Either way, the Horde's terms are met. Or the Horde conquers."

The wolf waited at Ashwell. The convergence approached. The patience continued. And the camp that had become a settlement that had become a fortress held its position half a march from the capital with the seven thousand warriors who were the most rested, most supplied, most capable military force in a region where every other force was bleeding toward exhaustion.

The evening settled over Ashwell with the specific quality that evenings produced when the camp was at rest and the intelligence reports were processed and the strategic picture was clear and the Horde's position within the picture was the position that patience had built. The cooking fires burned. The warriors ate. The Rhakaddons settled into the rest that the beasts' massive bodies required after the day's exercise. The wargs curled at their handlers' feet. The Snarling Wolf banner held its position above the command post, the wolf's snarl directed northeast toward the theater where the barbarians and the kingdom were bleeding each other toward the exhaustion that the wolf's patience was designed to exploit.

The wolf waited. The wolf was good at waiting. The wolf had been waiting since the city that raised it decided to exist, and the wolf would wait until the waiting produced the thing the wolf was waiting for. The thing was the same thing it had always been: Yohan's security. And Yohan's security was approaching, one irreplaceable boomstick ball at a time, one burning town at a time, one exhausted combatant at a time.