She knew something.
Mara looked at the forest wall, her expression distant.
"I was lost," Mara admitted, her voice rough. "Three winters ago. I chased a deer too far past the border. I fell into a ravine. When I woke up, I was in a bamboo cage."
The other women gasped. Getting captured by another species usually meant death, or worse.
"The Tiger territory was not like here. It smelled of flowers that made you dizzy, the air was wet, and they lived in the open, no wall, just a transparent cloth…" She shuddered.
"Sounds breezy," Roxy muttered.
"It is a trap," Mara corrected sharply. "They do not hunt for survival, Moon Mother. They hunt for sport. They catch things just to look at them. To play with them."
She turned to Roxy, her eyes intense.
"They brought me to their King. Not the White One... his father. The Old King. He sat on a pile of cushions, drinking red water that smelled of rot and sugar."
"Wine," Roxy supplied.
