Gram looked genuinely touched. The tension in his old shoulders bled away, replaced by a quiet wonder as he watched the Sheep tribe—creatures that, while not predators, were still much larger than his own kin—treat them with such gentleness.
The 'handshaking' had broken the ice better than a thousand speeches could have.
As the two tribes began to mingle and head toward the shaded groves of Oakhaven, I felt a familiar cool weight settle against my side.
Damar was still there, the tip of his tail occasionally brushing against my calf as we watched the procession. Where did he even learn this habit from?
It reminded me of Thalor, who would never let go of my ankle.
Ah, Thalor. If Damar notices Thalor's mark right now, how will he react? Certainly not happy, that's for sure.
Damar was remarkably quiet, even for him, his gaze flitting between the rabbits and the sheep.
