The fires burned bright under the moonlit sky, but away from the main festivities where families danced and elders chanted prayers, another kind of celebration brewed—deeper in the woods, past the roaring drums and flickering lights.
Arthur had barely taken a step toward the feast before a group of boisterous wolfmen grabbed him by the arms, dragging him with cheerful shouts.
"Hey! The hero's here!"
"The man who brought back our totems—get over here!"
Before he could protest, he was hauled into a wide, secluded open space surrounded by thick trees and roaring flames. Wooden barrels of liquor lined the edges, meat roasted over giant spits, and the scent of sex and spice filled the air like a drug.
It was a men's celebration.
A few dozen warriors lounged on cushions and wooden logs, laughing, drinking, and—
"Give him the front seat!" one barked.
Arthur was shoved forward, right onto a throne-like seat carved from darkwood and draped in the pelt of a dire beast.
