Given everything—the risks, the uncertainties, and the cards I was dealt—I'd say I've pulled off a great success.
Aron sat in the small hut that had been granted to him by the tribe, his fingers idly tracing the rough wooden beams that made up its frame. It was a meager dwelling, barely large enough for a man to stand upright without brushing against the thatched roof. The walls were little more than crude wooden pillars, lashed together and reinforced with dried mud, while the roof was layered thick with hay. He frowned slightly as he glanced upward. I wonder how well it holds against heavy rain.
But discomfort aside, he had no right to complain. Only a day ago, the warriors of this tribe had been ready to slaughter him and his men, to pile their corpses in the dirt and take whatever they pleased. Yet now, not only had he averted bloodshed, but he had secured an agreement—one that could prove far more valuable than any desperate fight for survival.