Fei Zhao led Su An'an to a dilapidated thatched hut on the border of the Fox Clan's territory. The wooden door creaked open.
The hut was dim and damp, with cobwebs clinging to the corners. The air was thick with the bitter smell of herbs, mingled with the raw scent of soil.
The old witch doctor sat hunched on a low stool, his cloudy eyes fixed on the pendant hanging from Fei Zhao's chest.
His voice was as hoarse as if it had been scraped with sandpaper. "The Broken Bone Tribe is no place for you."
Su An'an frowned slightly and took a step forward.
"Why? Is there something special about them?"
The old witch doctor's withered fingers tapped on the dusty tabletop. His knuckles were a bruised, bluish-black.
"They don't believe in the Beast God. They only worship the God of Fertility, believing that only the purest bloodlines are worthy of procreating."
He let out a cold laugh, the wrinkles at the corners of his mouth deepening into ravines.
