Nyell was still fuming when he started to pull out the spikes embedded in the stone wall and the wooden tablets. He didn't want to continue the conversation and cut it short. He'd eventually learn how important destined mates were for shamans, just not now.
Meanwhile, his father took it upon himself to gather the ashes and put them into the urns. There was no way to tell which pile of ashes belonged to which urn, and they got mixed up. But what could Corriel do? Nothing. He could only pray that the deceased wouldn't get too mad at him.
Not knowing where to put himself, Lapis sat on the ground, looking like a lost child. His eyes lingered on the two men busying themselves before landing on the manticore's head. Allen and Myur had left it behind.
"…"
Its bulging eyes were wide open and stared at him in disbelief, putting him ill at ease. Though it was dead and no life remained in its gaze, it still felt like its mouth could open any time soon, ready to bite his head off. He shuddered at the thought.
"You can go wait outside," Corriel smiled, dusting off his hands on his leather pants. "We're almost done here."
"What nonsense are you spouting? You want him to get out so he can get attacked by yet another beast? His weak ass won't last for more than a second." Nyell rolled his eyes. "He better wait for us to escort him."
"Son, don't vent your anger on him."
"Can I vent it on you, then?"
"Well, it was my idea to hide in the memorial cave in the first place, so it's my fault if it's a mess."
"I'm not angry about that. I'd rather make a mess out of our memorial cave than have you die on me."
"If not for that, why are you so angry?"
Nyell was about to snarl back something but ended up closing his mouth, frowning. Come to think of it, why was he furious? He fell silent and pondered over the question as he brought the spikes outside, dropping them beside the manticore's body.
It had no wound. The only thing out of place was the missing head. How did Myur do that?
"Better not to get on that thing's bad side," Nyell clicked his tongue, veering on his heels. "Let's go find Hersyl's corpse before it gets eaten."
Lapis, who had just come out of the cave, blinked his eyes. Question marks seemed to pop around his head as he looked at Corriel for an answer. He wasn't brave enough to ask Nyell. The young man could be as unreasonable as his chief, and he'd been scolded enough for the time being. His ears were still ringing.
"Although Hersyl was from a rival tribe, we're not the kind to let people's corpses rot in the jungle. If you don't mind, we'll organize a funeral for her. We'll have to trouble you to preside over it, however. Our shaman deserted."
Patting his shoulder, Corriel followed behind his son without looking back at the White Moon tribe's beta, missing the deep look filled with pain and uncertainty flashing through his eyes.
.
.
After losing two out of three games of rock, paper, scissors to his father, Nyell reluctantly admitted defeat and pulled Hersyl's dead body onto his back. It hadn't yet started to stiffen, but it had grown cold and was heavy.
"I can do it…"
Nyell side-glanced Lapis, whose thin body seemed just strong enough to support his own weight. If Nyell were to toss Hersyl's corpse at him, he feared his knees would give up and his arms would snap under its weight, making him stumble headfirst.
"As if!" Nyell rolled his eyes. "Try to keep up the pace and not fall behind."
Not waiting for an answer, Nyell made his way toward the village. Although the body had almost been emptied of its blood thanks to the gaping wounds left on its back, there was still a bit left. It smelled strongly, and Nyell knew it'd draw predators sooner rather than later. It was a miracle that only small beasts had gathered near Hersyl's corpse earlier. Dispatching them took a second.
Nyell opened the path and distanced himself a little to act as bait and give his father and Lapis some space to escape if things went south again. As for Corriel, he followed closely behind Lapis, ready to catch him if he fell.
The shaman had difficulty navigating in the jungle. The giant roots were hard to jump over, and the mossy, swampy ground seemed to be hungry for his feet, trying to drag him down and swallow him whole. The lush vegetation often obstructed his path, even after Nyell passed first. At the very least, his robes helped protect him from the insects' bites and the plants.
How could the Black Moon tribe walk around the jungle as easily as on flat land?! It floored him.
As if reading his mind, Corriel laughed softly. "You get used to it over time."
"Is that so…"
Lapis didn't want to admit that maybe it was just him and his weak body that made it hard to follow Nyell's pace. Hersyl hadn't been used to the jungle either, and yet, she had been able to travel through it just fine, running and even fighting.
Though, now, she was nothing more than a lump of dead meat.
.
.
Cries and sobs resounded as the three members of the White Moon tribe, who had been left behind, clustered around Hersyl's corpse. The Black Moon tribe looked at the scene in silence. Even if they hated their guts and wanted them to get lost, they wouldn't mock them or try to stir trouble while they mourned.
It was unknown what was going through Nyell's head as he watched them cry. Or, it should have been. His father knew him too well.
"It's not your fault. She and Lapis decided to venture into the jungle of their own volition, and now, they paid the price for their carelessness. No one is safe once they leave the village, and that goes for the White Moon tribe too."
"I know, it's just…"
A deep sigh escaped Nyell. Although he had fought many times with the White Moon tribe and blood had been shed, it had never been to the point of someone dying. They beat each other to an inch of their lives but always stopped before it was too late. Every time a warrior was about to go too far, one of their comrades stepped in. Fighting and quarreling were alright as long as no one died.
Corriel patted his son's shoulder and turned his head toward his beta, Julze. "We'll prepare a funeral for Hersyl. Get people to help you out."
Julze was taken aback but nodded. If that was what his chief wanted, he'd do it. Many people raised an eyebrow, and some wanted to protest, but after meeting Corriel's eyes, they held back. He had made up his mind, and except for the elders, no one had the right to go against their chief.
"Corriel, we need to talk."
Nyell lazily eyed Burg, one of the elders. Disapproval was stretching his lips taut, and a frown creased his brows.
"Alright." Corriel wasn't distressed and showed his hut with one hand. "Let's talk in private."
Watching his father and the elders' backs retreating, Nyell couldn't help but let out a mocking scoff. The poor men didn't know yet that Corriel had blacklisted them. His father was usually mild and well-mannered, to the point where he had always entertained the elders, no matter how ridiculous they were. But now that he saw them as nothing more than bugs, he wouldn't be so kind as to let them run wild.
Just as expected, a few minutes after the elders went into Corriel's hut, they hurriedly came out and left with a huff. Their faces were red from anger, and veins were bulging on their foreheads.
In contrast, Corriel was smiling, his eyes soft, as he walked to his son. Unable to reign in his curiosity, Nyell muttered: "What did you do?"
Corriel shrugged and bent over to whisper in his son's ear, not wanting to scream what happened on rooftops.
"Well, they weren't happy with the idea of us organizing a funeral for a werewolf from a rival tribe. It isn't our business, it seems."
"Oh?"
"I was a little annoyed, and so I told them that our tribe's disappearance issue wasn't Allen's problem either. With that in mind, I'd go tell him to pack his things and let the daemon run free. We had a chance encounter with him and more or less know where he is now. It shouldn't be a problem to find him."
Nyell cocked an eyebrow. For his father to threaten the elders, even if it was empty threats, he must have been angry beyond belief. Saying he was annoyed… That was an understatement!