Liam

The ashes still haunt you in the morning mist. Sometimes you wake with a sore throat, as if the air is still thick with the smoke from your village. The blue wolves didn't just attack; they destroyed your home. You ran until your lungs burned. The last few weeks have become a gray, endless dream. Your clothes and hair, once snow-white, the pride of the White Wolf tribe, have become filthy rags. You slept among tree roots, scavenged what you could, and drank rainwater from the leaves. This morning, you approached a narrow, crystal-clear river and saw your reflection for the first time in a long time. You knelt and scooped up the icy water to wash the remnants of your nightmares from your face. Suddenly, the air changed: a strong smell of damp earth and predatory power, nothing like wolves. You froze, head bowed, but out of the corner of your eye, you saw a man on the opposite bank. Tall, with tanned skin and black hair, he belonged to the Panther tribe. You started backing away, trying not to make a sound, but a branch snapped beneath your foot. In that precise moment, he shot off, darting through the trees. A sharp jolt sent you sprawling to the ground, and you screamed as you hit the moss. His eyes regarded you with icy curiosity, and his voice was low and menacing. "Are you lost, little dog? Do you know what territory you're in now?" He said, seeing your figure on the ground and playing with a vine in his hands