The dancers in the square looked at us with friendly laughter and curiosity, taking us for a couple of lovers exchanging sharp remarks.

Smiling, I extended my hand to Ena, hoping to calm her ardor. However, her words - although harsh - did not touch me; on the contrary, at that moment the wine, the generous attention of the local beauties, and the entire festive atmosphere only increased the feeling of lightness and carelessness.

Suddenly Bruno joined us, embracing Ena around the waist and inviting her to dance.

Ena suddenly recoiled, throwing a piercing glance at him, like a startled roe deer, and with a loud slap freed herself from his arms.

Bruno, slightly taken aback, spread his arms, but a moment later his attention was drawn to my charming companions, and he, without wasting time, offered one of them a dance. The girl, laughing, grabbed his hand, and they began a strange, cheerful dance, attracting the attention of the audience.

After the dance, we returned to the festive table, where endless toasts and treats began again.

The celebration was gaining new momentum, and the wine flowed like a river. With each glass, the music became louder, the faces around us seemed even brighter, and the stars above us pulsated as if playing along with the fun.

The whole evening I was in a strange, almost unnatural state - as if I was not completely here.

It seemed that the party around did not exist, that the noisy laughter, music, and warm embraces of the girls barely touched my consciousness, as if I was looking at everything through a flimsy curtain.

The conversation with Oceania left some kind of disturbing trace in my soul: I would like to think that our meeting was just a mirage, a dream, that she remained nearby.

When I poured the intoxicating drink into myself, there was a strange contradiction in my soul. One part of me longed for oblivion, fun and joy, longed for ease, but another part secretly hoped that it would wake up now, and Oceania would be there, as wise and irresistible as if it had never gone away.

Later that night, when the fun was over, I could hardly remember all the details. My head was still spinning with crazy pinwheels of faces, laughter, glare from fires, and the starry sky, which seemed like a vague sketch on the canvas of my vague memories of this evening.

I woke up late, in a strangely cozy silence, surrounded by the soft peace of the hayloft. The festive joy that had deafened me the day before seemed to still hold me in its embrace, and my mood remained surprisingly bright.

I felt cheerful, without the usual heaviness on my shoulders, dizziness, or a drop of remorse for the stormy dances and drunken toasts.

Without bothering to change my clothes – I had already slept the night fully clothed – I gently kissed the girls, who were peacefully dozing next to me, on their warm, rosy cheeks. They stirred slightly, still sleeping, and I carefully climbed out of the hayloft, heading off to look for my companions, hoping to find them in the same high spirits as I was.

Finding my friends turned out to be easier than I had expected. As soon as I stepped outside, I met Aglon, who had been chosen as the “most sober” and “least affected” by the consequences of yesterday’s fun. His confident gait and clear gaze immediately distinguished him from the locals, who were just beginning to wake up.

“Finally!” he said, smiling. “We’re already getting ready, just waiting for you.”

I followed him and soon saw the entire detachment preparing to leave.

Next to Pete stood the village leader, Gunar, a tall, strong man with a bearing and posture that spoke of his leadership qualities. His stern but friendly face expressed interest and concern. Behind him stood several curious residents of this beautiful town.

He was talking to our guide, asking questions, considering him the leader of the group. Despite the early morning, Gunar looked fresh and cheerful, as if the evening feast and intoxicating drinks had no power over him.

"It's a pity that you are not staying?" said the leader with a noticeable degree of disappointment.

"We thought that you were settlers. This happens sometimes. People want to live free and run to us. Frankly, we need strong men, skilled hunters, and brave soldiers.

I was surprised by his words: what could give us away as warriors? We looked like travelers, loaded with supplies and road fatigue, but not like a detachment of military bearing.

"We are heading to the White Mountains," Pete answered calmly. His confident tone, his commanding manner, and the orders he gave could mislead anyone. Gunar was no exception.

At these words, the Lord's face darkened. His brows came together on the bridge of his nose, and genuine concern flashed in his eyes.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

"The White Mountains..." he repeated as if tasting the name. - "It is a dangerous path. Few dare to go there, and even fewer return. I hope you have a good reason to go to such places."

"We have a goal," Pete answered evasively, trying not to go into details.

Gunar frowned, and then took a step forward, clasping his hands

behind his back. His face expressed both bewilderment and irritation.

"Rhino dung!" he exclaimed, not holding back his emotions. "What are you doing there? The White Mountains are a deserted, lifeless place! We don't even send criminals there! Come to your senses!"

He waved his hand as if trying to drive away the very thought of our journey.

"Are you not happy here?" he continued, with a slight emphasis in his voice. "We have accepted you as our own. The celebration will last for a few more days, until all those who wish to have families have been established. We are ready to settle you in the village immediately, without any probationary periods."

Pete kept a neutral expression, but I saw his fingers tighten slightly, squeezing his belt.

"We have enough young, healthy women," Gunnar continued, lowering his voice as if offering something special. - "They are not just glad to see you. They want husbands, strong and brave. Many of them are ready to choose you right away," he glanced in my direction, and his tone changed slightly as if he was joking. - "And some have already chosen."

His words made me feel uncomfortable. My cheeks began to burn, and I looked away to hide my embarrassment. But, apparently, this only amused the lord.

Ena snorted, displeasedly poking me in the back with her finger as if urging me forward.

The old man wanted to continue convincing us, but then Nikos, whom we nicknamed "Telescope" for his keen eyesight, suddenly raised his hand, interrupting Gunnar.

"I see something!" he exclaimed, covering his eyes with his palm. - "There, in the sky!"

As if on command, we all turned our heads in the indicated direction.

A black, sullen bird circled lazily over the Ash Hills. Its wings glided heavily in the air currents, and its dark silhouette stood out ominously against the clear morning sky.

"Harbinger of Death..." - someone from the village muttered.

The bird fluttered from side to side, catching invisible updrafts. Its behavior was somehow strange, almost meaningful.

I involuntarily wondered: what force told it about the upcoming feast? What could it know that had not yet reached us?

The silence that hung over our detachment seemed deafening. Even Lord Gunnar, who had recently confidently instructed us, fell silent.

His eyes, filled with anxiety, darted in our direction.

"A bad sign..." - Gunar muttered, barely audible, as if talking to himself. His eyes did not tear themselves away from the blackbird hovering over the hills. Then, as if realizing that we could hear him, he raised his voice: "This is a warning, a sign that cannot be ignored!"

Pete, who had been confidently leading the conversation until now, suddenly fell silent. His gaze darted from Gunar to the other townspeople, as if he were looking for support. Gunar perceived this silence as weakness and, inspired, continued:

"Your path is doomed. The Ash Hills are a place where only those who do not value their lives go. Why would you risk it? Are you not welcome here? Isn't the way we have received you enough? Stay."

An awkward silence followed, and I noticed how the villagers who had surrounded us were watching what was happening with curiosity and caution.

Michel stepped forward, breaking the silence. His voice was firm, but restrained, without unnecessary emotion:

"My Lord, thank you for your hospitality. We sincerely appreciate your concern and understand that you want to protect us. But our decision has been made. We are ready to face any danger that awaits us ahead. Enough time has been spent on persuasion, and if you want to do us one last favor, tell me who among you can become our guide. Perhaps there is someone who knows the shortest route?"

Michel spoke politely, but with an unyielding tone that made it clear: we will not back down from our own.

Gunnar looked at us for a long time, squinting and studying our facial expressions. His gaze was full of wariness and, perhaps, hidden regret. Then he sighed heavily and shook his head.

"You will not have a guide," he said dryly as if he had finally put an end to the conversation.

"None of my charges will go to the White Mountains. I have no such people. That is not why I take care of every man in my village."

He lowered his voice as if he was about to tell us a secret:

"I will tell you a secret. You will not go far. No further than the Toothy River. Perhaps there you will change your mind. The black bird circling over the Ash Hills is not a simple coincidence. The Harbinger of Death is never wrong. He knows when life will give way to death. Think again, because by staying, you lose nothing."

I glanced at my companions. Their eyes reflected a mixture of irritation and hidden anxiety.

My stories about how the journey could be dangerous heard earlier in the village of Strizhi, then seemed to my friends only beautiful horror stories.

But now Gunnar, a stranger, repeated the same words.

"Let's go!" I finally said, barely containing my irritation. "The sun is already high. The Toothy River awaits us."

They still did not let me have breakfast. Instead, they mounted me on a lammul, a stubborn and strong beast that nervously shifted from foot to foot, ready to break loose.

I barely had time to adjust the reins when Nikos, hearing the mention of the Toothy River, turned to Gunnar.

"Why is it called the Toothy River?" he asked. "And why can't we cross it?"

Gunnar frowned at us, and then slowly turned his gaze to the river hiding over the horizon.

"Because its waters are inhabited by sharp-toothed creatures," he said with grim calm. "They tear to pieces everything that dares to enter their domain."

We exchanged wary glances. Gunnar must have noticed our tension, because he continued, still calmly:

"Our town is undisturbed from the other side. This river is our natural border. Even the bravest robbers and hunters do not risk crossing it. And we, for that matter, do not tempt fate either."

Nikos frowned, apparently trying to imagine what we would have to face.

"And how do you survive if there are such creatures there?" he asked.

Gunnar shrugged.

"We do not approach the river unless necessary, and they do not come ashore. This balance suits us quite well."

Lammul neighed impatiently beneath me as if sharing our concerns. I patted his neck encouragingly, trying to hide my doubts.

"Then we just need to stay away from the water," I said confidently, although inside I had a nagging feeling that things would not be so simple.

Nikos shrugged, clearly unimpressed by Gunnar's story.

"The name doesn't explain anything," he said with a slight grin.

I noticed his gaze drifting to the horizon as if he was already imagining the menacing river. Then he glanced at us and, grinning, added:

"We'll only be scared after we see the aforementioned teeth with our own eyes."

With these words, he urged the lammul on, and it obediently moved forward.