The days bled into one another like ink on soaked parchment, colorless, murky, indistinct. Zara has been given her daily task, and after her second day, she started with the job.So just like today, she scrubbed until her fingers turned stiff, and her knees ached from crawling on the stone floor. Her body had learned to move very fast within these few days. The training pit was the worst of all places, the scent of sweat, and blood soaked into the walls and floor. From morning until late noon, the warriors howled and slammed into each other like beasts in heat, growling dominance, marking territory, living violence. But Zara was not permitted inside the pit. Her place was around it, always barefoot, and she stayed quiet, brushing dirt from the floor as if her effort would wipe away the blood stains. No one looked at him because they already known what she was. A forgotten offering, a shameful gift from a lesser pack. A symbol of surrender, and not a soul.The sun burned harshly tha
Magbasa pa
Mag-log in
