"What the fuck…"
The curses belonged to a man who was quite skilled in the art of perching on a tree. He had stayed a fair distance from the crowd, tucked behind a plethora of branches and leaves.
He conceded it was tough getting this close to the villagers, and still remained hidden. For his bright orange hair usually drew unwanted attention wherever he went. Wisely, he decided to wrap his head in a black scarf, so his unusual coloring would not blow his cover.
When a branch snagged onto the scarf that was wrapped meticulously over his hair, he emitted a low growl, swiping it away.
Bayar was already feeling quite annoyed by the circumstances, yet these pesky tree branches were pricking him everywhere, further stoking the flames of his irritation.
The moment he had just witnessed in the New Moon tribe was as mystifying as it was treacherous. Even an uneducated man like Bayar knew that the circumstance now placed the Silver Moon clan as a foe to the New Moon tribe.
