The town was simple, made of stone and wood, but teeming with life. Still-open stalls displayed salted fish, wolf pelts, and stale bread fresh from the oven. Men carried firewood, women shouted prices, and children ran through the narrow alleys.
Damon looked around with wide eyes. It wasn't just the bustle—it was the warmth of people. The stark contrast to the forest they had come from. It was as if they were two different worlds separated by a wall.
But with each passing face, Damon felt his throat dry. Every human heartbeat was like a drum in his ears. The smell of blood lingered beneath the smell of bread and smoke. And the voice inside him whispered again: "All of them. Weak. Meat."
He closed his eyes, trying to push the thought away.
"Control," he murmured to himself, remembering Ester's words.
Ester didn't seem to notice—or just didn't care. She walked through the streets as if she already knew the place, ignoring the curious glances her presence inevitably attracted.
