It was getting dusk, and there was some groggy in the big tent. The bonfire in the corner swayed, drawing out the shadows of the dog-born warriors, and it made people feel a little hot.

Hearing Alan's words, the old militiaman felt sweat on his forehead. The other party's Guajili voice was low. Although he couldn't quite understand it, he could feel the obvious hostility and indifference. This is obviously different from what your son said. What about "Sister Alan who is easy to talk to"?

"The chieftain of the Red Crow Tribe!..."

two steps away, mecarter

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