As the White Tiger tribe enjoyed the Great Soup Festival, eating their fill and sitting by warm fires, a shadow slipped through the southern jungle.
Vara was furious.
She didn't run away. She stomped forward, angry and proud. Every branch she broke felt like Ren's neck. Every vine she cut was Kael's betrayal.
"He chose a hairless rat," Vara hissed to the empty forest. "A weak, flat-chested runt who plays with mud!"
She stopped and looked back at the Tiger Cliffs. The bonfire's faint glow was still visible. She heard the Wolves howling. Were those scavengers really eating her tribe's food now?
"I will not be humiliated," Vara spat. "If Kael wants to play house with the human, he can burn in it."
She turned South.
The air felt thick. The bright green jungle faded to a dull, gray-brown. The ground became soft and wet, water rising around her ankles as she walked. The trees twisted above her, covered in moss that hung like old cobwebs.
The Black Swamp.
