Gora, in the language of werewolves, means hope.
And indeed, this small valley had become the very embodiment of hope for the werewolves.
A race without a home is destined to suffer. Just like a plant without roots cannot grow, rootless people are doomed to extinction.
To the werewolves, obtaining a legitimate place to live meant more than just freedom from the constant fear of the Ministry of Magic's sudden crackdowns. It also meant that they could finally accumulate wealth properly, that their children could play and grow without being forced to toil like the adults.
Before this, they had to constantly move from one hidden place to another. Every move meant leaving behind things they couldn't carry. Every move meant re-establishing protective enchantments from scratch. Every move meant scouting the surrounding environment all over again for usable resources…
The werewolves were long exhausted by this nomadic existence, but sadly, compared to wizards, they were simply too weak.
Why do so many creatures turn to the night for survival? It's not because they hate sunlight, it's because they're too weak to claim a place beneath it. Not everyone gets to bask in the light that gives life to all things. Though, admittedly, vampires might have a few words to say about that.
These werewolves were lucky, their ancestors had made the right choices. After years of hardship, they finally earned a place to survive on this continent.
All across the valley, buildings of questionable aesthetics stood crookedly, it couldn't be helped. These werewolves had lived in tents for so long that they had practically forgotten how to build proper homes.
Unfortunately, none of them seemed to realize how absurd it all looked. Everywhere Allen's eyes landed, he saw a patchwork of bizarrely shaped, misshapen structures. Aside from their semi-logical distribution, the place looked like a giant had thrown a handful of rubble across the valley, creating a chaotic meteorite-strewn mess.
And that wasn't even the worst of it, the werewolves had enthusiastically decorated their beloved homes with all sorts of eccentric ornaments, displaying a rather unique aesthetic sense. For example, one pile of leaning rocks had salted fish hanging from it. Another makeshift structure built from toy-like blocks was covered in fake, ever-blooming flowers. In short, there was nothing so strange that the werewolves wouldn't attempt to build it.
Thankfully, Mr. Soli, the once-incompetent wizard who had recently transformed into a werewolf mage, still retained some decent architectural taste and magical skill. Because of that, Allen was spared the feeling that he had just traveled back in time to visit a caveman friend.
It was obvious the couple took great pride in their little home. Outside the entrance stood a large shelving unit, lined with glass bottles that shimmered in the sunlight and cast reflections in the shape of elegant blooming flowers. Inside, the floor was layered with thick carpeting, judging by the feel underfoot, the floor beneath was made of real wood.
Nelly whispered something to Annie, and the little girl skipped off with her, giggling joyfully, leaving Allen alone with Soli.
Soli then brought Allen into a small room, steamy and aromatic from the brewing of several pots of potion, clearly high-grade stuff.
After all, there's a common rule in potion-making: the more complex a potion, the longer it takes to brew. Although it doesn't require constant attention, even the slightest error during the brewing process can render it completely useless, wasting both time and money. And the cost of ingredients rises proportionally with the potion's level.
As Allen entered, the spell that had previously blocked the scent of the potions wore off. The combined smell of the various brews made him rather uncomfortable. Soli, however, looked delighted.
"Last time, that notebook I gave you barely scratched the surface," he said cheerfully. "But lucky for me, after moving to the valley, I discovered a large number of rare herbs, and today is the day the brew finishes. Talk about good fortune."
"This is an original, unrefined version of a compound potion. Its biggest strength is its long duration, up to an entire day, and the fact that it can bypass all known detection methods. It even alters a person's natural scent."
"Though I can't spare too much, as the chieftain I still managed to set aside enough for seven or eight days' worth." With that, he scooped a full vial of the potion from a cauldron and handed it to Allen.
Allen didn't hesitate for a second, this stuff was gold. Compared to simplified versions, this was the kind of item you'd want for assassinations, heists, or covert operations, an absolute must-have. If he didn't already know Soli and they weren't on friendly terms, he would've fought to steal it.
But... why had they gone through the trouble of preparing such an expensive potion?
Allen had seen the original, unrefined recipe in that notebook. Brewing this thing was like burning money as fuel. And the werewolves weren't exactly wealthy. Why spend so much on this?
He'd also noticed something odd upon arriving, there were far fewer people in the village than the last time he visited. Nearly half the population seemed to be gone. Sure, the vampire raid had wiped out a good number, but the numbers still didn't add up.
Before he could dwell on it further, Allen was interrupted by a curious sight.
Nelly returned, this time with a little girl dressed entirely in red.
That's right, completely red. Draped over Annie was a bright red velvet cloak.
The cloak wrapped around her entire small frame. It looked to be made from the luxurious underfur of a fox, dyed the color of flames. Aside from a few simple wooden buttons, it had no other decoration. The cloak was clearly too big for Annie, only her face peeked out from beneath it.
"Surprisingly, it suits her so well," Nelly said proudly. "I just finished making this cloak earlier this year. I was originally planning to keep it for myself, but... well, I married this idiot." She pointed smugly at Soli, clearly the idiot in question. "According to tribal custom, only unmarried girls can wear cloaks like this. Once you're married, you're not supposed to dress so childishly."
"But I did make a few magical adjustments," she added, gesturing at the hood that now covered Annie's head. "I tailored it just a bit to fit her better."
Annie clearly loved the cloak. Seeing that, Allen decided to prepare a generous wedding gift in return, after all, the cloak looked expensive.
Perhaps reading Allen's mind, Nelly quickly clarified, "You saved our tribe. This is the least I can do. And besides, the materials were easy to find."
"…Really?" Allen asked skeptically.
"Oh yes! The color comes from dyed Moonflowers, they're everywhere. As for the fur, it's from my own autumn shedding after I transformed. I wove it myself. It really didn't cost much at all."
As she explained with a smile, Allen finally understood what the Aurors meant when they described werewolves, and realized just how perfectly matched this couple truly was.
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