Early in the morning, when the fog had not yet fully dispersed, a snow owl with ruffled, unkempt feathers limped into the territory of the Snow Leopard tribe.
Wind transformed into a human; his old eyes darted around looking at the crowd of Nomadic Wolf and Bloodsucking Bat Beastmen living together, thinking he had gone to the wrong place because of this chaos.
But no matter how senile he was, he wouldn't fail to recognize the way; the memory of the terrain of a bird of prey was still there.
Dante was patrolling; he looked closely for a moment before recognizing this was the tribal chief of the Feathered tribe, who had once been majestic and awe-inspiring, and respectfully stepped forward to support him: "Senior, why did you come here alone? Where are your escorts?"
At this time, Wind looked unkempt, his animal skin clothes tattered, his whole body skinny and old, his trembling hands clinging to Dante's arm.
