Bjorn’s shoulders tensed as his grip tightened around the handle of his axe. He knew that crooked grin, the floppy feathered hat, and that slouched stance.

“The Banditleaf Trio,” Bjorn muttered, planting his boots firmly in the damp earth. “Guess I didn’t hit you hard enough last time.”

The leader, Snatch, strutted forward, his floppy, feathered hat bobbing with every step. A chipped sword swung lazily from his belt, dangling backward as though it hardly mattered. From his boot trailed a green vine, snagging in the grass like a pet tugging at its leash.

“Yes!” Snatch cried, flinging his arm skyward as though bowing to an unseen crowd. “The Banditleaf Trio returns to the stage of destiny!”

“Do we really have to call it that?” grumbled the shortest one, hunched beneath a thorny cloak. “I still like ‘The Thornback Gang.’ Sounds tougher and less leafy.”

“Silence, Thorncoat!” Snatch barked, never breaking eye contact with Bjorn. “Today, we are a Trio. It’s symmetrical. It’s classy. It’s poetic.”

“Mmhm,” came a weary yawn from the third, leaning on a crooked staff. “Can we just get this over with? I skipped breakfast.”

“Crumble!” Thorncoat shouted, elbowing him. “At least pretend to be menacing.”

“I am menacing,” Crumble replied, yawning again. “Just… not before noon.”

Bjorn tugged the strap of his satchel tighter. “C’mon! I don’t have time for this.”

Snatch gasped as if stabbed through the heart, staggering back with a hand to his chest. “How rude! We prepared an entire ambush, hacked through a thorn maze, rehearsed our grand entrance, and this is the thanks we get?”

Thorncoat’s eyes darted to the satchel. “What’s in the bag?”

“Looks heavy,” Crumble added. “Might be valuable.”

“It’s not yours,” Bjorn said.

Snatch’s grin stretched wider. “We only want to borrow it, for inspection.”

“Maybe a taste test,” Crumble mumbled. “If it’s food.”

“Or a cursed relic,” Thorncoat whispered, inching closer. “Bet it’s cursed.”

Snatch thrust a finger skyward like he was proclaiming prophecy. “Only one way to find out!”

Bjorn’s gaze flicked between them, reading their stances. Crumble—slow, but built like stone. Thorncoat—always circling, always with nets and snares. And Snatch—all swagger and chatter, a showman who never shut up.

He’d beaten them before. But this time felt different. Every second wasted here was a step closer to failing Rowan. What if he didn’t make it back to Thorne’s cottage in time? What if the remedy never reached him? The thought twisted in his chest, heavier than any axe he could carry. He tightened his grip. He couldn’t let them stop him.

He turned, and Thorncoat had knotted himself in his own net, one leg caught in a bush like a deer in a snare. Crumble leaned on his staff, eyes half-closed as if he might nap standing up. But Snatch stood tall, chipped sword raised like a legendary blade pulled from stone.

“Last chance!” Snatch bellowed. “Hand over the satchel, and we’ll let you off with only a warning.”

Bjorn set his stance, his boots firm in the damp earth. His knuckles whitened around the handle of the axe as he lifted it. Fear turned in his stomach, but if the Banditleaf Trio wanted a fight, he’d give them one.

“Alright,” Bjorn said. “Come try me.”

Snatch twirled his sword with wild, unnecessary flair, the feather on his floppy hat flopping dangerously. “Banditleaf Trio!” he roared, pointing as if commanding an army. “Formation Leafstorm Alpha!”

“I’m going wide!” Thorncoat shouted, sprinting for the trees.

“Do I hit him now?” Crumble mumbled, mid-yawn.

But Snatch didn’t answer. His boots skidded on moss, but with a shout, he spun and swung in a vast arc.

Bjorn ducked and blocked Snatch’s blade with his axe. 

CLANG! 

Sparks burst into the air, scattering like startled fireflies.

“You’ve gotten faster,” Snatch puffed, half-impressed.

Bjorn didn’t answer. His axe swept for Snatch’s legs. The bandit hopped back, snagged his heel on a root, and toppled flat with a WHUMP!

Before Bjorn could advance, a net came whistling through the air.

“Surprise!” Thorncoat yelled.

Bjorn twisted aside, and the net sailed past him, straight onto Crumble.

“Hey,” Crumble muttered as the cords dropped over him. “Why am I always the one who gets caught?”

“You moved!” Thorncoat shouted from the bushes. “You weren’t supposed to move!”

Snatch scrambled upright, slapping dirt from his hat with furious dignity. “No more games! I’m going full Bandit Mode!”

“You’re already in Bandit Mode!” Thorncoat groaned.

But Snatch was already charging, his chipped sword flashing in frantic arcs.

Bjorn met each strike calmly, his axe steady as stone parting water. Sparks leapt with every clash, flaring like fireflies before vanishing back into shadow. Snatch’s swings were wild, all noise and flair. Bjorn’s counters were sharp, measured, unshakable. Inch by inch, the fight tipped his way.

Behind them, Crumble wriggled free of the net, dragging it like a sluggish snake. He squared his shoulders and watched Snatch and Bjorn fight.

“Alright,” he muttered. “My turn.”

He barreled forward, not gracefully, but with the force of a falling boulder.

Bjorn waited until the last second, then he took a step to the side. His axe snapped against Crumble’s staff with a sharp crack, sending it spinning into the underbrush. Crumble stumbled, momentum carrying him headfirst into a bush. The whole shrub shook from the impact.

The satchel thumped against Bjorn’s ribs with every breath, each bump reminding him of the fragile treasures inside.

The Banditleaf Trio kept pressing, but their teamwork unraveled fast. They argued, tripped over roots, and shouted so loudly that startled birds burst from the branches above.

“You missed again!” Thorncoat bellowed, his second net dangling uselessly from a branch.

“It’s not my fault, he’s too fast!” Snatch barked, slashing wildly.

Bjorn ducked beneath the blow, rolled across the mossy ground, and rose smoothly behind them.

“Hey.”

Three heads whipped around at once.

Bjorn lifted his axe and slammed the flat side of the blade into a tree. WHUMP! Bark splintered, scattering like startled moths.

The Trio jumped.

“I said,” Bjorn growled, “back. Off.”

The Banditleaf Trio went quiet, trading uneasy glances. Crickets chirped somewhere nearby, filling the silence.

Crumble raised a hand. “I vote we back off.”

“Agreed!” Thorncoat blurted. “Backing off sounds… smart.”

Snatch tugged his floppy hat. “Very well. Consider yourself lucky. But next time, we will not be so—”

Bjorn arched an eyebrow.

“—generous,” Snatch finished quickly. Then, with a huff, he spun on his heel and stormed off, the vine around his boot dragging like a tail. Crumble trudged after, muttering about berries for breakfast. Thorncoat brought up the rear, tripping twice as he tried to gather his nets.

Bjorn waited until the Banditleaf Trio was out of sight before he ran down the path to Thorne’s cottage.