{Ryanna’s POV}
The Hunt Ceremony had most likely ended hours ago, yet the camp was still awake. Still blazing.
We crossed the entrance into the Moonskin pack proper expecting commotion, maybe a fight, maybe the aftermath of a disaster. Instead, we walked into a celebration.
It didn’t register at first. The drums were too loud. The firelight is too warm. For a moment I thought it was a delusion, some trick of smoke and exhaustion. But then the cheers rang out, and the aroma of roasting meat crammed the air. Not burning, Not death, But feasting.
Adolph reined in beside me. "Is this some twisted funeral?"
"Doesn’t smell like mourning," Basten said. He sniffed, then nodded ahead. "That’s spit-roast. Something big."
"Boar, maybe?" Magnus added, squinting toward the center of the clearing.
