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Leoru lifted his glass with a heavy expression. “Alright then, everyone, raise your glasses.”
He looked around at the gathered members of the Silver Mane Tribe.
One by one, warriors wrapped in bandages stepped forward and raised their own cups. They all faced a burial site built on the edge of the village, a resting place for the warriors who had died fighting the demonkin in the recent uprising.
“The first drink is for the warriors who have left us.”
Leoru poured his drink over the gravestones. The clear liquor flowed down like tears, soaking the stones.
“The second drink is for those who couldn’t leave.”
The injured filled their cups and downed the liquor in one go. The gravely wounded ones could barely lift their cups, but each of them swallowed the strong liquor as if it were nothing.
“The final drink is for ourselves.”
The villagers tilted their cups in unison. Among them were young beastkin, such as Leo and Riru, but even they shut their eyes tightly and drank the strong liquor.
Leoru looked over the Silver Mane Tribe and quietly said, “For the past hundred years, our tribe lived in fear...
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