Ayse kept silent the entire time. He offered no comment or resistance to his upgraded terms of treatment. So much so that when the four elders surrounded Ayse as escorts, they were confused by Ayse's unexpected expression.
A cheeky grin stretched across both cheeks. And Ayse's eyes were squinted in deep thought, as if Ayse was lost in an imaginary world and couldn't bother to pay attention to reality.
However, there was one person present even more pissed off than Elder LaRae.
While Ayse was escorted off the battlefield, LaRee confronted his father, questioning, "What are we doing? He saved us! Why are we restraining him again?"
LaRoe suddenly put on his neutral, dutiful expression as chief. Giving his son a slight nod, LaRoe replied, "That is true. But it's also true that Ayse committed crimes against the chief and the village. Until those crimes can be solved in a trial, it's tradition to keep him detained."
"Tradition?!" LaRee scoffed.
His mind was still whirring from the heightened battle as well as all the deep conversations LaRee had just before the ambush. For once, LaRee let his frustrations loose.
Shaking his head, LaRee further questioned, "Is it tradition to save the tribe that captured you? Is it tradition for an outsider to defend our chief? If you were Ayse, would you save the village? The village that slapped, spit, and pissed on you?!"
Chief LaRoe took in a slow breath, pausing before he exhaled and replied, "... This is tradition. That's what it means to be chief. Even if I can subvert certain consequences, I can't erase blame before a trial."
"Then throw out tradition!" LaRee shouted, not caring who might hear him. "Ayse promised to protect the tribe. He did that to prove it was all an accident. And he fulfilled his promise! After the elders and the tribe disgraced him!
"Tradition has nothing to do with Ayse! So why hold him to tradition!"
Looking into the raging eyes of his son, LaRoe maintained his straight face. "... I understand your feelings."
"Do you?! It doesn't feel like it!" LaRee retorted.
"But I can't change tradition. Not so easily," Chief LaRoe continued. "Tradition changes over time, not overnight. Ayse will receive food, wine, and water to bathe. And tomorrow, I'll oversee Ayse's trial."
When the chief broke away from LaRee's supporting arm and walked away, LaRee shouted, "What now? Huh? How can we thank Ayse for saving us?!"
"With food and wine," Chief LaRoe commented without turning back.
"Are food and wine equivalent to the chief's life? Is that all your life is worth, Dad!? … You know that's not enough! You know that!"
LaRee tried to get his father's attention, but it was no longer available. His father was blatantly ignoring everything else LaRee had to say on the matter. And LaRee could do nothing but stare at his father's back as Chief LaRoe limped back to the village, uninterested in the support of his livid son.
Standing there, LaRee was left alone on the emptying battlefield.
Bodies were being gathered in two groups, those belonging to cannibals and those of fellow tribesmen.
The bodies of the cannibals were thrown into a pile since they needed little to no preparation before their funeral. Because all they would receive is a disrespectful burial at sea, where each cannibal carcass will be tossed into Ice Lake without a word or a second thought.
In contrast, the bodies of the fallen tribesmen were carefully laid out. Each corpse was put on its back and their weapons, if recovered, were laid across their chest.
Nearly fifty tribesmen had perished, along with over a dozen white wolves. It was a mournful night after their mammoth celebration.
The casualties were incomparable the cannibal warriors being wiped out. But fifty men, within such a small tribe of around two hundred people, was a massive blow to the village. It was bound to cause a struggle for the tribe in the near future. Whether hunting for food or gathering resources, the tribe's labor force took a detrimental blow.
Rather than celebrate the removal of the enemy army, Chief LaRoe and the elders prepared immediate funerals for their fallen comrades.
Tears were shed. Screams of sorrow rang out. And ceremonial words of passing were shared for each tribesman and wolf.
"This is sky fiend's fault…"
"This is sky god's wrath."
"How dare he? He killed my husband!"
Murmurs flooded the village overnight. Fueled by traditional anger, the entire tribe placed the blame solely on the intruder. And resentment for upgrading the sky fiend's commodities added fuel to the tribe's growing fires of frustration.
No one was able to sleep that night. No one except for Ayse.
Ayse was now staying in a small storage hut on the outskirts of the village. He was given a thin, fur-pelt to use as a bed and a small wooden basin paired with a bucket of ice-cold water.
During the funerals, Ayse spent his time scrubbing all the grime off his body. It took some time without any soap or washcloths. But Ayse made do with what he was given, offering zero complaints. By the time he was rinsed down, the water left in the basin was murky and muddy. It stank up the entire space.
"Well, it's better in the bin than on my body," Ayse remarked to himself.
That's when Ayse strolled to the small bowl of extra-dry jerky. He took a bite and it broke off, getting harder to chew with each nibble.
Ayse then lifted the lid from the small wine pot. And he immediately put it back on.
"Woo… That's a little too fermented for my tastes." Ayse shook his head, trying to shake the foul, sour fumes back out of his nostrils.
With a sigh, Ayse looked through the cracks of the door. "It's almost daylight. I've got a few hours till the trial, probably… I probably won't have any visitors. So I think I'll be fine."
Outside, en route toward that very storage shed, LaRee marched through the village pathways.
A few people tried to greet LaRee, at least out of decorum as the chief's son. But not a single person got a reply. They didn't even get a glance from LaRee.
His eyes were waiting for the storage shed to come into view. Only then would LaRee be able to change his expression and begin unleashing his pent-up feelings.