A deathly silence.
The icy air usually filled with screeches and wails had plunged into complete silence after brief lamentations.
Crackling campfire sounds accompanied the skinned wild boar as it slightly charred under the fiery flow, reaching the optimal degree for consumption, provided one can ignore the pungent stench mixed with the aroma.
Wisps of mist from outside the cave drifted softly in, tinged with a bloody hue, like the air had condensed the rich scent of blood.
"Gululu."
A small yellow-green cloudy eyeball rolled out from the half-crushed skull, reminiscent of those frosted crystal spheres favored by nobles in Neum City, with chewy, elastic "mochi" attached, bits of flesh sprinkled like red spice, doused with a few drops of creamy, thick "congealed bean liquid," finally enveloped in a layer of freshly boiled, warm crimson "hawthorn honey syrup," completing the mold.
