Leone and the members of the Aslan Tribe stood at the ramparts of their fortress.
From a distance, warriors numbering in the thousands stood in formation.
The other tribes also observed this solemn ritual from the safety of the walls that protected them from the monster army.
The sun was about to set on the horizon, and the Darkmane Tribe's burial rite was about to commence.
The one who would preside over this sacred ceremony was none other than the shaman of the Darkmane Tribe, Jafar.
And standing beside him was a cloaked person.
That person stood over two meters tall. Even from a distance, he looked like a very sturdy fellow.
As Jafar chanted the rites of the dead, the warriors of the Darkmane Tribe wept silently.
They were warriors.
Tough and unyielding.
But at the end of the day, they were still humans.
They could feel happiness, sadness, loneliness, anger, and grief over losing those who were close to them.
