For a long moment, there was only silence. The only sounds in the clearing were the crackling of the hardwood fire and the gentle bubbling of the fifty-gallon stew. The weight of her words hung in the cool morning air, forcing every beastman and female to actually think for themselves instead of blindly following tradition.
Then, the silence broke.
One of the rogue strays—a badger beastman with a scarred shoulder—slowly stood up from the dewy grass. He carefully set his empty wooden bowl to the side, licking the last bit of gravy from his lips.
"My village was destroyed by shadow beasts," the badger beastman announced, his voice raspy but resolute.
He reached down and gently helped his pregnant mate up to her feet. She leaned against him, her frail hand resting protectively over her swollen belly.
