Nan Mo emerged from the small tribe, holding the little female baby. The Day of Blazing Flames was approaching, and he knew that if he remained in a weak tribe, he would die.
I wonder how my three brothers are faring, he thought. As for Mother...
He wasn't as clean as Bei Ji, as clever as Xi Qing, or as fiery and spirited as Dongchi. He couldn't speak; he was disabled. His mother's gaze had never fallen upon him. She didn't love him, and so, he didn't care about her either. There was no sadness in Nan Mo's heart; he had grown accustomed to all this and accepted it.
"Little snake cub?"
