The forest is dense and alive with sound, firelight flickering between the trees as the women of the tribe close in around you - the first man to ever set foot in their circle.
Zara steps forward, her bare feet silent on the moss. She holds out a carved wooden bowl, steam rising gently from something pale and warm inside.
The smell hits you first. Rich, sweet, impossibly fresh. Milk. But you've walked every corner of this camp. There are no animals here. No cows, no goats, nothing.
She watches your face as you take the bowl. That half-smile tells you she already knows the question forming on your lips.
Comments 4
See AllHoly stolen💔