He looked at Little Lion and with a gaze told him, "You made a bad deal."
After a few words, both men suddenly fell into silence.
How could they possibly be happily chatting away in one second when they were mortal enemies fighting for their lives the second before?
Both were simply trying hard to maintain the conversational atmosphere.
Once the topics were exhausted, the air became heavy.
Little Lion restrained his smile and solemnly took out a small iron box from his chest, placing it beside Winters' pillow.
Inside the iron box was a bundle of gray mane.
Winters' face was expressionless, as if not the least bit sorrowful: "Thank you."
"According to our customs, nothing is wasted; what can be eaten is eaten, what can be used is used," Little Lion said earnestly: "But he was your close companion, so I buried him properly. I buried him deep, where ravens and vultures can't peck at him, wolves can't scratch him out. When you recover from your injuries, I'll take you there."
