The sun climbed high into the sky before the first signs of life stirred in the tribe. The celebration from the night before had gone on until the early hours, leaving most of the villagers passed out in various corners of the settlement, half-covered with furs or sprawled beneath the morning sun.
But once they woke, it was as if the entire tribe had been reborn. The air buzzed with energy, the scent of cooked meat and freshly turned earth mixing with the crisp wind that swept down from the northern hills.
Wolfkin of all ages moved with purpose—young ones carried stones and timber to the center of the village, where the long-abandoned temple, once a ruin buried in weeds and dust, was now being rebuilt. Older warriors directed them, reinforcing the foundation with materials scavenged from storage and repurposed from old huts.
