Marion wandered the battlefield.
Once a dense forest, it had been torn open by arcane cannons, leaving a barren clearing that looked like a hideous scar on the sky's scalp. Amazons and skeleton soldiers had carried away the wounded, dragged off the corpses, and collected any weapons still salvageable, yet all manner of debris remained piled here.
The werewolf girl rummaged through the scattered wood and stones. Sharp debris left white scratches on her hands—since undergoing Nature's baptism, the skin on Marion's hands had grown as resilient and tough as a wild animal's paw pads, no longer easily torn by grit. On the battlefield days ago, she'd finally gotten the fight she'd longed for. Nature's gift of sharp claws and fangs tore enemies to shreds. The sensation of becoming a wolf made Marion's blood boil. Even days later, recalling it made her skin tingle.
But now was no time for such reminiscences.
She raced across the battlefield, searching everywhere for what she had lost. Each fruitless search deepened her self-loathing. Marion had transformed into a wolf amidst the chaos; the primal call had made her forget entirely what she had shed. Those items lay scattered across the battlefield, torn apart like her ripped dress.
She found scattered limbs left unclaimed, fragments already rotting, yet devoid of insects—the vermin shunned this zone scarred by arcane cannon fire. She gathered blood-soaked rags and metal scraps that could no longer be identified as armor or weaponry, objects destined to crumble to dust under wind and sun. The ground was parched, stripped of all plant roots. The topsoil quickly became dry and loose. Dust was whipped up by the wind, slowly erasing the traces on the earth. Perhaps in time, everything forgotten on the battlefield would vanish.
Marion found her mother's tooth beneath a withered stump at the edge of the battlefield. The string that had held it in place was gone. She picked it up carefully, wiped the dust from it with the hem of her dress, and clasped it tightly in her palm.
She knelt there searching for a long while, hoping another item had been kicked here too. But no, only this single tooth lay among the tangled grasses—no other.
All night, Marion failed to find the Angaroth lion's tooth.
"It's yours!" declared the golden-haired Amazon girl. "Don't refuse it—I'll hunt for one myself someday anyway."
She was wrong. The young warrior died on the battlefield, never reaching the age to wield sword and shield, never getting the chance to hunt an Angarosa lion herself. Her name was Eunice. She preferred swords over bows, fought bravely in open combat but wasn't skilled at stealth, loved eating fish, and had a little sister just four years old. Eunice adored her sister and said she'd teach her swordplay in two years.
Eunice was Marion's new friend. She teased Marion, tugged at her ears, and gave her a cherished pendant. Eunice told her which season in Angaroth Forest yielded the fattest fish in the streams ("Though sometimes you have to snatch food from a bear's mouth, and a mother bear with cubs isn't easy to deal with.") and which leaves could be rolled into whistles. Marion was overwhelmed by the Amazonian kindness, convinced they could become close friends who would hunt, train, and fight side by side. She tied the lion's tooth pendant around her wrist, silently vowing to cherish this precious gift forever.
It seemed the things she wanted to keep never stayed with her for long.
Marion knelt on the ground, doubting she'd ever find the pendant again. An unsettling aura hung over the battlefield, and searching most of the night had left her exhausted. Marion couldn't stop thinking about all the other things she'd lost—half her new friends, her mother, her father, her tribe. It was always like this, as if cursed—everything she loved would leave her, differing only in the length of time it took. The relentless anxiety surged back through her veins. Marion feared that everything she had left would soon vanish too, leaving her alone, displaced, and belonging nowhere.
Mom, she whispered inwardly, what should I do? If you were here, what would you do?
Her mother's teeth sank into the skin of her palm. Naturally, she received no answer.
Marion heard footsteps.
She had spent most of the night on the ground. Now, before dawn, the waning full moon still shone brightly. On the deserted battlefield, a figure emerged from the shadows, moonlight bathing the creature.
A pale skull reflected the moonlight.
It appeared to be a woman, but above her neck lay only a smooth skull. It was a wolf's head, Marion recognized it instantly. Her people hung wolf skulls in the shaman's tent, placed them beneath the stone pillar of the Wolf God, and painted them on murals telling legends. The wolf-headed deity strolled beneath the full moon, while ancestral spirits with wolf skulls for heads roamed the night... Marion didn't believe these tales, telling herself they were mere childish superstitions. Yet now, the werewolf girl stared blankly at the visitor, just as she had in childhood.
"The second time," Tasha said. "This is the second time you've called me 'Mother'."
Marion was speechless until the figure stood before her, then snapped to attention. "My lady," she said awkwardly, rising hastily, feeling no words could ease the tension. "You... you've changed so much."
Her mistress smiled—or what might have been a smile—her jaws opening and closing slightly with a faint click. How could a bone make a sound? It seemed to reach Marion's ears directly. Two red flames flickered steadily within the wolf skull's eye sockets. Marion dared not look longer and lowered her head.
"Were you looking for this?"
A slender hand opened toward her, its palm cradling a conical tooth. Angarsos lions weren't large, but their canine teeth were long and sharp, like miniature ice picks.
Marion froze for a few seconds, then nodded vigorously. She stared at the recovered treasure, unable to say anything but nod, forgetting even to move, standing there dumbstruck. Tarsha waited a moment, then lifted Marion's hand and slipped the pendant into her palm.
Though topped with dry bone, those hands were warm, and the tooth itself seemed tinged with heat. Marion felt an inexplicable sting in her eyes and took a deep breath to steady herself. She wasn't one to cry easily—she'd held back through so many losses, even this most recent one...
Those hands touched her ears.
Her master chuckled softly. That husky, gentle voice always sounded so calm, as if nothing in the world could unsettle her. She gently rubbed Marion's earlobes and murmured, "So soft. Just as I imagined."
Tears suddenly fell.
Was it because fear and sorrow had reached their limit, or because those hands felt as warm as those of friends and family in her memories? Marion couldn't hold back anymore. She bit her teeth, head bowed, letting the tears fall silently to the floor. She thought she was quiet and hidden enough, but her shoulders and ears shook violently. Tasha reached out and embraced her, and Marion began to sob uncontrollably.
Once again, Marion had thought too loudly. Her pain, anxiety, and self-reproach were laid bare within the link. Tasha had no experience comforting children like this, so she could only pat her back. The werewolf girl's body temperature was higher than Tasha's, and as she burrowed into her embrace while crying, Tasha felt like she was holding a sad little puppy, sniffling and wriggling everywhere. Eventually, Marion settled into the hollow of Tasha's shoulder, resting her head there and sobbing quietly. Tasha rubbed her ears and stroked her head.
"I'm not usually like this," Marion said between hiccups. "Really."
"It's nothing," Tasha replied. "You're only sixteen, little girl."
As dawn broke, Tasha led Marion back to the dungeon. The girl stared at the wet patch on Tasha's shoulder, looking so ashamed she could have sunk through the earth. Tasha told her to go back to sleep, taking the chance to stroke her head again (the werewolf girl's hair was as soft as the fur on her ears). Marion unconsciously rubbed against her palm.
"You wanna hook up with her?" Victor asked sourly. "She's already yours. Why waste time on this nonsense?"
"For demons, is casual conversation equivalent to a sexual proposition?" Tasha countered. "I pity your impoverished mental lives."
"Don't change the subject. You've wasted an entire night on this nonsense! Have you forgotten there's a whole human world out there to deal with? What are you waiting for?" Victor demanded.
"For dawn."
"What?" Victor asked, puzzled.
"After all," Tasha said, "humans don't conduct business at night."...
In Antler Town, the easternmost human settlement in the Angaso region, the early-rising mayor's face darkened considerably upon seeing the arrow-borne letter delivered to his office.
The government hall stood at the town center, a symbol of the Erian Empire's authority here, always equipped with the finest facilities and strongest defenses. Yet now, an arrow was brazenly embedded in the back of the mayor's chair, its force piercing through the upholstery. Had the mayor been seated there at the time, or had the arrow landed on his bed...
He swallowed hard, inwardly cursing the garrison stationed here. Antler Town was one of Colonel Benson's military posts. Officers could boss the mayor around, yet when their campaigns failed and they let those damned demon spawn run rampant, it was the mayor himself who faced mortal danger. How utterly unreasonable.
The mayor tried to pull the arrow free, but it wouldn't budge. He summoned a guard to extract it, unfolded the note, and scanned it, inwardly cursing. "Your cannon was intercepted by us"? "The captured officer revealed the firing method"? Each of these incidents exceeded his authority and responsibilities. The mayor pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and grimaced as he ordered his servants to prepare to notify the colonel's carriage.
Unlike most of the local bumpkins, the mayor had heard a thing or two about "cannons." He had no desire whatsoever to see that contraption turned against the territory under his jurisdiction. He hoped the military would show mercy, considering this terrifying threat, and refrain from continuing the war. But based on his understanding of that major...
"Threaten me?" Major Benson sneered. "Humans never compromise with alien species!"
...See?
"But sir," the mayor ventured cautiously, "the previous expeditionary force suffered... well, defeat despite using artillery. Survivors reported the entire forest becoming mobile. Lately, many woodcutters have mentioned trees growing unusually fast there. Could some powerful demon be at work? Perhaps we should request higher command for additional reinforcements..."
"Are you implying we lack the capability to independently eliminate a local scourge?" The lieutenant colonel fixed him with a chilling stare.
The mayor immediately shook his head, forcing a sheepish smile.
"Moving trees, hmph. Superstitious nonsense. Merely the remnants of Druid cultists," Lieutenant Colonel Benson declared.
"Ah, sir, your knowledge is truly vast!" the mayor fawned, forcing a smile. "Then regarding the druids..."
"For those tree-worshipping charlatans, we've had solutions for centuries." He walked to the window with his hands behind his back, gazing at the forest. "A single setback is merely an accident. Such trifles scarcely warrant disturbing General Hillman."