Night fell once again.
The Wolfteeth Tribe gathered around their bonfires, flames flickering against the dark sky as laughter and chatter filled the air.
Martin sat alone near one of the fires, staring quietly at the dancing embers.
He was now officially part of the Wolfteeth Tribe—or rather, half a member.
He had agreed to join, but he still hadn’t gone through the baptism, the initiation trial Skywolf had mentioned.
And Skywolf hadn’t told him what that baptism actually involved—only that he would find out “when the time comes.”
“Martin!”
Two familiar figures approached from the shadows, each carrying chunks of meat.
It was Wolfeight and Wolfnine.
Even though Martin’s status in the tribe was still technically provisional, everyone treated him with deep respect—after all, he was
