Deep in the forest, we found the tracks—circular footprints in the mud so deep that half a branch could be buried in them. We found a broken tree with its trunk snapped clean in half and a pile of steaming dung as large as a small boulder. The Chieftain's face turned serious. She said it was an Iron Skin Beast, a creature with natural armor so thick that claws simply slid off. The tribe had fought one before, and many had died. Everyone wanted to turn back, but I refused. The beast had just eaten; it would be slow and sluggish—the perfect target for our new weapons.