The group suddenly grew by more than twenty children, and the whole scene immediately became chaotic.

  The Fire Fox tribe had brought quite a few people—besides the little fox girl Viola and two older boys, there were thirteen kids who looked only seven or eight years old, each filthy and so skinny their bones showed through their skin.

  The Black Wolf tribe was no less impressive, bringing eleven children ranging in age from about four or five to seven or eight.

  Though these kids came from different tribes, their appearances were quite similar: tangled hair, faces covered in dust, and eyes that still showed a trace of wariness mixed with curiosity.

  They looked like little animals just picked up from the wild, crowding together in a mess, eyeing each other and whispering softly.

  After resolving the ape tribe crisis, it was already near noon. Draven had no intention of rushing onward. He instructed the slaves to rekindle the morning's extinguished campfire and told everyone to prepare lunch.

  "Let's fill our stomachs first," he said.

  The children were dirty and hungry, their eyes already full of exhaustion.

  Draven glanced at them, frowned slightly, and decided to temporarily ignore the thick layer of dust covering them.

  He knew that no matter how clean their animal skin clothes were, they couldn't hide an empty stomach.

  Interestingly, while everyone waited for food, the children quickly began playing together.

  More than twenty kids ran and shouted, seemingly not caring about the dirt and smells on each other.

  They couldn't speak the same language, but that didn't stop their communication; a few simple gestures and mimicry were enough.

  Laughter and shouting echoed through the forest, and in that moment, they were not newly captured prisoners but old friends reunited after a long time apart.

  Draven stood by the fire, guiding Morne and two other Black Wolf slaves to cut the dried meat strips into small pieces, then toss them into a clay pot with water to slowly stew.

  His movements were steady and calm. Occasionally, he stirred the meat broth with a wooden spoon, and a faint aroma rose from the pot.

  He tasted it and thought it was nearly done, then added several seasonings he carried with him.

  They were herbs he had gathered near the valley—slightly spicy to the bite, but able to balance out the dried meat's gaminess.

  Suddenly, he sensed movement behind him. Turning around, he saw little fox girl Viola standing a short distance away, cautiously watching him.

  She stood straight but seemed shy, unsure whether to approach the fire.

  Draven smiled, ladled a small bowl of the meat broth from the pot, and handed it to her. "Here, try some."

  Viola immediately stepped forward and took the bowl, carefully bringing it to her lips and gently blowing on it.

  Just as she was about to drink, she felt a burning gaze on her. Turning, she met Draven's eyes.

  She shivered slightly, instinctively turning her back to block his gaze before taking a small sip.

  The broth tasted lighter than she expected, but not bland. The strange spices gave the ordinary soup a unique flavor. Her eyes brightened as she drank another sip.

  "Is it good?" Draven asked.

  Viola nodded and quietly said, "Good."

  She didn't understand why this wolf leader's eyes always burned like fire—scorching yet like moonlight in the deep night, shining into the softest part of her heart.

  Draven's lips curved into a smile as he took the bowl back from her hand. Seeing a bit of broth left, he didn't hesitate to tilt his head back and finish it.

  Viola's eyes widened, her face flushed bright red like she was on fire, and she turned and ran away.

  Draven laughed at her flustered retreating figure, still savoring the taste of the soup.

  He then walked over to the bushes, pulled some tender green leaves—plants somewhat like scallions—tore them into small pieces, and tossed them into the pot.

  "Morne, call the kids to eat!" he shouted.

  He knew these children hadn't eaten hot food for too long; their stomachs were empty. If he just gave them dried meat to gnaw on, their digestive systems might not handle it.

  When the kids sat in a circle and the clay pots were brought out one by one, they immediately pounced on the food.

  With the hot soup warming their bellies, their eyes lit up with a little more life, and some even had tears welling in their eyes from the emotion.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  The three big clay pots were soon emptied, but the children still stared longingly at the fire pit, as if hoping for a miracle from the bottom of the pot.

  "That's enough, stop staring," Draven said with a smile, shaking his head. "If you eat any more, your stomachs will explode."

  After the meal, the slaves quickly tidied up the packs, and the group resumed the journey. The children who were too young or tired to walk were carried on the backs of unarmed slaves, adding little extra burden.

  Draven led the way, scouting ahead. He didn't dare let the group move too fast. Before nightfall, he found a flat, dry spot to set up camp.

  Luckily, they found a natural pond along the route. The children, who had been stripped naked, were thrown into the water one after another.

  Their joyful screams filled the air, like a bunch of ducklings just hatched.

  When pulled out again, each child was clean. Especially the Fire Fox kids, with their fair skin and rosy cheeks, looking like wealthy children who had never suffered hardship.

  The Black Wolf kids were much worse off—each was thin and dark-skinned, but after rinsing with clean water, they looked much better.

  Viola also took the chance to wash her face and change into a clean set of animal skin clothes. When Draven saw her walking back from the water's edge, it felt like his heart was suddenly set aflame.

  Her face was free of dust, her features delicate and lovely, every movement carrying a certain indescribable gentleness. He forced himself to look away and kept working without stopping.

  That evening, when setting up tents, Draven threw down the animal skins belonging to Rurik and Bran.

  "You're both grown now; set up your own tents," he said bluntly.

  Bran opened his mouth, looked at the skins on the ground, then at Draven, his face flushing red with anger. He hugged the skins and sat off to the side, sulking.

  Rurik, on the other hand, was sensible. He quietly picked up the skins, quickly found a vacant spot, and set up tents for both of them.

  He patted Bran's shoulder as if comforting a younger brother who'd been kicked out of the house.

  The children's bellies were full and finally they quieted down, and the camp gradually grew calm.

  The sun slowly sank below the horizon, casting long shadows from the mountains under the golden-red afterglow.

  Draven stood by a rock, hands resting on his knees, watching the fading sunset, silently counting the time in his heart.

  When the last ray of light finally disappeared, he moved. First, he went back to his own tent.

  Inside the tent, Bran was curled up in a ball, like a wild dog clinging stubbornly to its den.

  He saw Draven enter, a flicker of unease in his eyes, but he still held tightly onto his animal hide and wouldn't let go.

  "Get up." Draven strode over and kicked him roughly on the butt, knocking him off the hide.

  "If you crawl into my tent again, I'll break your legs." His tone was calm, but there was no hint of a joke in his eyes.

  Bran's mouth moved, trying to say something, but in the end he said nothing. He just lowered his head, picked up his hide, and with reddened eyes—like he had been deeply wronged—sat down sulking.

  But Draven didn't care about his feelings at all.

  After driving Bran away, Draven didn't stop. He turned and headed straight toward the Firefox tribe's tent.

  That tent was even older than his, the edges of the animal hides badly worn and flapping noisily in the wind. Draven called out from outside.

  Viola the little fox came out slowly. Hesitation and a bit of nervousness flickered in her eyes.

  She hadn't yet found her footing when Draven suddenly grabbed her up like a sack of flour and slung her over his shoulder.

  She gave a soft cry but didn't struggle hard. Her tiny fists tapped on his back weakly, without any real strength.

  Her face was as red as a ripe apple—whether from shyness or fright, no one could tell.

  Draven carried her steadily, like a victorious warrior returning to camp. He even hummed a tune, looking like a man in very good spirits.

  He lifted the tent flap and stepped inside, tossing her onto the pile of soft, thick hides.

  Viola tried to get up but bumped right into his broad, sturdy chest.

  She froze, and before she could step back, Draven pressed down on her, whispering, "Don't move."

  Her eyes widened, and flustered, she awkwardly tried to shield herself with her hands—but her movements were clumsy and weak.

  Draven grabbed her wrists, raised her hands above her head, and with one hand easily pinned them in place.

  Outside the tent, night had fully fallen, and the firelight cast a warm yellow glow on the ground.

  From afar came the howls of wild beasts, mingled with low laughter and whispered voices.

  A lazy troll on watch leaned against a crooked tree, squinting toward the tent with a sly grin. He knew exactly what was happening but also knew better than to interfere.

  Bran sat on the edge of camp clutching his hide, muttering under his breath, seemingly cursing.

  Rurik, annoyed, kicked him sharply. "Shut up."

  Inside the Firefox tribe's tent, a boy who resembled Viola bit his lip hard, his eyes dark with anger.

  His fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. He didn't know exactly what was happening inside but he could hear crying.

  He thought his sister was being bullied but dared not rush in. He was still too young and could only lean against a tent corner, burning with fury inside.

  Time passed. Eventually, the noises inside faded away.

  Draven lay back among the hides, Viola curled in his arms, her face pressed to his chest with a few tears still clinging.

  She was very quiet, her gaze distant, as if she hadn't fully recovered from the strange experience.

  Unconsciously, she nuzzled closer to his embrace, mumbling a few indistinct words, then fell into a deep sleep.

  Draven held her tighter, his fingers gently stroking her back. He said nothing, just exhaled deeply and closed his eyes.

  Early the next morning, before the sky fully brightened, birds chirped in the forest. The cold wind carried the scent of morning dew.

  Draven crawled out of the tent, shirtless, letting the mountain breeze brush his skin.

  He tilted his head back and took a deep breath, then went to the pack animals and rummaged through the luggage for some clean clothes.

  When he returned, Viola was already awake, hugging an animal hide while sitting in a corner, her hair messy like a bird's nest, her gaze somewhat dazed.

  At the sound of the tent flap moving, she snapped her head around and blushed deeply upon seeing Draven, even her ears turned red. She instinctively hugged the hide tighter.

  Draven entered, crouched down, and handed her the clothes. He noticed the torn hides in the corner from last night and wore a complex expression, part apology, part helplessness.

  He said nothing, only reached out and pulled her into his arms. She stiffened noticeably but didn't resist.

  His palm slid from her hair down to her smooth back, gently, without aggression—just pure comfort.

  Viola pressed his restless hand down and softly said, "It's time to get up. We still have to travel."

  Draven's hand stilled, and he nodded.

  She bent her head to put on the clothes he brought. Her movements were awkward at first but she dressed quickly. When she stood, her legs suddenly buckled and she almost fell.

  Draven immediately caught her, one arm around her waist, and lowered his head to kiss her lips.

  Viola froze, eyes wide open, then closed them and softly returned the kiss.

  Her face flushed wildly, until she nearly ran out of breath, then abruptly pulled away, panting quietly.

  She lowered her head and dashed out of the tent as if fleeing.

  Outside, the first ray of sunlight fell on her face. She squinted and smiled, standing in the sunshine. In that moment, it was as if she saw the world anew.