The big, matted-furred vermin stays on his feet after you collide, which is more than can be said of you. You land heavily on the road with a grunt and a small cloud of dust. You stare up in alarmed surprise as a dozen other vermin, at least six rats, a few weasels, a couple of stoats, and a ferret or two, move to surround you. "What 'ave we here, boys? Anothe' lazy little pup wot thinks he can go bludering intu' whoever eh wants, eh?" The rodent you jostled punches out, catching you in the side of your snout. With another grunt, your head snaps to the side, and the big rat gestures to one of his fellows with a long, rusty spike.
"Dirtfur, get this liddle worm in the ranks. The Cheif'll be 'specting us back at camp soon!"
"Aye, Capt. Mangetail." A weasel with a filthy coat roughly hauls you up and manhandles past the 'Capt' and into the large crowd you can now see milling about behind him.
There are vermin of all varieties, seeming to vary in mood between dejection and enthusiasm, and surrounded by a loose formation of well armed rat soldiers waering crude uniforms.
Orders are bellowed, and the entire group, swings back around and into the trees. Nervously, you glance at a younger weasel in line beside you, looking about as worried as you feel. "What's happening? Where are we going?" You ask, whispering for fear of drawing one of the rat's attention.
"Dunno, mate. Name's Grigtail. I was jess out lookin' for food along the path one day. When this gang comes by and tells me its my lucky day, that I git to join the army of a mighty warlord. They threw me intu' line, and we've been marchin' all day, but I don't know where they's taking us."
"Quiet back there!" Barks one of the rats, lashing out with a spear butt. You and Grigtail fall silent, as you continue tramping through the brush for some time, stung by insects, slapped by branches, and occasionally whacked at by the irate recruiting vermin. Tired, thirsty, and sweaty, but thankfully having not been stripped of your provisions, you eventually arrive at