The bustle of the festival gradually receded behind them, seemingly no longer belonging to them. Rowan sat steadily on the large snake slithering smoothly through the grass, enjoying the peace and quiet of the night that belonged only to the two of them.
On the way back, while passing a dense grassy field, they encountered a herd of iron-horned beasts grazing in the night. Owen did not miss the opportunity; he handily lunged forward to hunt a fat one, clamping it tightly in his mouth to bring back as reserve food.
Upon returning to their familiar cave, the moment Rowan jumped from the snake's back to the ground, he felt something was amiss. His keen sense of smell detected a strange scent lingering in the air.
"Did you throw those long-tailed rabbit skins carelessly at the door?" He pointed at the mess right at the cave entrance, looking at the ragged rabbit skin still stained with fresh, undried blood, and turned to ask Owen.
