The Grymdale Tribe.
The torrential rain was endless. Flash floods surged through the mountains, destroying one cave dwelling after another.
Now, only half of the tribe's members had survived. They were all huddled together, curled up in the depths of Elias Moretti's cave. The damp air was thick with the sound of stifled gasps.
Outside the cave, thunder boomed, and the feeble torchlight flickered.
Cecilia West was hunched over, tightly clutching the cub in her arms.
She slowly turned her head to look at her mate. Her sunken cheeks made her eyes look terrifyingly large, and her voice was as hoarse as if she had swallowed sand. "Is there any food left?"
A scrawny gray wolf cub squirmed restlessly in her arms, letting out a faint whimper.
She only had one mate left, but he wasn't a gray wolf. He was a young Snake Beastman.
