At dawn, a fine, silken rain silently soaked the swamp.
Sunlight fought its way through the curtain of rain, dyeing the peaks of the distant, towering mountain range a dazzling gold, as if a god had crowned them in gold.
The light also clearly illuminated the clearing before the wooden palisade of the Rot Moss Tribe.
A crowd of Lizardmen had already gathered at the tribe's entrance.
Semia strapped a bundle of sharpened bone spears to her back. She turned her head, looking at her younger sister, who was adjusting a small leather pouch at her waist.
"Sergash, are you really... not going to say goodbye to the envoy?"
Sergash slowly shook her head.
"I'm not going, Sister."
Semia didn't press, just nodded.
"Alright. The rain is light now. If we set off today and travel quickly, we can reach the hunting grounds below the snow line before the storm completely closes off the mountain. Then we can return to the holy land and complete the ritual as soon as possible."
