The Queen of Scrolls never admits defeat

After the hunting demonstration, it was time for the archery competition.

This event is open to all hunters; any member of the tribe can participate.

The target wasn't a dead target, but rather a colorful strip of cloth hanging from a treetop in the distance, tied with a thin rope. When the mountain wind blew, the cloth would sway, greatly increasing the difficulty.

Several young soldiers who helped move the leather yesterday participated. Tarillo was the most accurate archer, hitting all three arrows and winning enthusiastic cheers.

Children also participated in this project.

Seven- or eight-year-old Tatali children can draw a small bow, and although they lack strength, their posture is already quite good.

Tamuna also took to the field. Her arrow flew off crookedly, not even touching the edge of the target tree, but it earned her good-natured laughter and encouraging applause from everyone.

"Would you like to try it, Miss Sylvia?" Taram walked over unnoticed, holding a small bow specially made for children.

Sylvia paused for a moment, then her eyes lit up: "Is it okay?"

“Of course,” Taram smiled. “The celebration belongs to everyone.”

Sylvia took the small bow.

The bow was made of supple wood and polished smooth and warm. She stood in the same position as she had just seen, nocked the arrow, drew the string, and the arrow flew limply out, landing on the grass not far away.

The Tatars watching laughed.

Several children ran over to help her retrieve the arrow, and Tamuna solemnly demonstrated for her: "Your wrist should be like this! Your breathing should be steady!"

Sylvia tried a few more times. On the third try, the arrow finally grazed the bark of the target tree, leaving a faint white mark.

"I won!" She jumped up with joy.

The Tatars around her applauded.

At that moment, Sylvia felt extremely happy and developed a strong interest in hunting.

As evening fell, the campfire was lit.

A huge bonfire roared up, its orange flames shooting into the darkening sky, sparks crackling and dancing like a reverse meteor shower.

The aroma of the roasted meat reached its peak, and the Ironhorn Bull and Moon Deer slowly rotated over the flames, their fat dripping into the fire and making an enticing sizzling sound.

The women cut the roasted meat into large chunks, placed them on wooden platters, and distributed them to everyone, along with fresh raspberries, moon mushrooms marinated in raspberry wine, and flatbread dipped in tree nectar.

Sylvia received a large plate.

She imitated Tamuna, grabbing the meat chunks with her hands and biting into them. The meat was tender and juicy, with a crispy, fragrant outer skin.

"Delicious!" Her eyes narrowed.

Moran, also carrying a plate, sat down beside her daughter. She ate more elegantly, cutting the meat into small pieces with a knife, but the contentment in her eyes was the same.

Chief Talam personally poured Moran a glass of ragu wine.

She took a small sip; it was sweet and sour, with a slightly tingling sensation like an electric current.

The sky grew completely dark.

The campfire became the only source of light, casting a warm red glow on everyone's faces, and their shadows stretched long and swayed behind them, as if they had come to life.

Seven or eight drums of different sizes were struck at the same time, the rhythm from slow to fast, like a mountain rain coming from afar, like a heartbeat going from calm to excited.

The war dance began.

The older soldiers were the first to enter.

They carried spears or battle axes, their faces painted, and they moved with heavy dance steps.

Next comes the younger generation.

Their dances are more agile and varied, sometimes like a cheetah stalking, sometimes like a falcon diving.

The lightning wolves also joined in at their master's call, weaving among the dancers, the electric sparks on their backs reflecting the firelight.

Finally, the children joined in.

There are no fixed dance steps; you simply sway your body, clap your hands, stomp your feet, and spin to the beat of the drums.

Laughter, singing, and drumming blended into a huge, joyful roar.

Sylvia was also pulled into the dancing group by Tamuna.

The drumming gradually subsided.

The dancers returned to their seats, drenched in sweat, and drank heartily, laughing and talking loudly.

The atmosphere relaxed, becoming warm and languid. At this moment, an elderly woman with gray hair and faded facial makeup slowly walked to the campfire.

She had no musical instruments in her hands; she simply sat cross-legged, closed her eyes, and began to sing.

The voice was old and hoarse, yet it possessed a strange penetrating power. The melody was like mountain winds passing through valleys, like streams flowing over pebbles, like the breath of a forest in the dead of night, and like the whispers of a distant thunderstorm.

Everyone fell silent.

Even the most boisterous child nestled in their mother's arms, listening intently with wide eyes.

Moran and Sylvia listened quietly as well.

The old woman sang for a long time.

As she finished her last note, the campfire was burning at its brightest, sparks shooting into the night sky and mingling with the stars.

A long silence.

Then, Chief Talam stood up and raised his horn:

"For our ancestors! For the mountains and the thunder! For the friends gathered here tonight!"

Everyone raised their glasses.

"For our ancestors! For the mountains and thunder! For our friends!"

The sound echoed through the valley.

Sylvia also raised her small wooden cup and, following everyone else's example, drank the diluted rum in one gulp. The slightly numbing sweetness melted on her tongue, warming her all the way to her heart.

Late at night.

The younger children were carried back to their tents to sleep, but the celebration continued, turning into more relaxed conversation.

Small groups of people gathered around a small fire, sharing food and exchanging stories.

Sylvia was already sleepy. She leaned against her mother's chest, her eyelids drooping, but she still forced herself to stay awake and listen to Tamuna recount her thrilling first hunting trip into the mountains with her father.

After Tamuna fell asleep in her grandfather's arms, exhausted, Moran gently stroked her daughter's hair and smiled at Taram:

"Chieftain, thank you for your hospitality tonight! We'll be heading back now!"

Taram nodded understandingly: "I'll escort you both back to the castle."

“No need.” Moran stood up and picked up the sleepy Sylvia. “The moonlight is beautiful. Let’s take a walk back to digest our food.”

She nodded to Talam and the other elders, then, carrying her daughter, slowly walked back to the castle.

The light of the campfire gradually faded into the distance behind us, and the moonlight spread across the grass like a layer of silver frost.

Sylvia, half-asleep in her mother's arms, mumbled softly:

"Mom... the Tatali people are so hospitable..."

"Tamuna is my first friend from another ethnic group. When I grow up, I will come to see her again!"

"In the future...I want to go to many, many places...and meet many, many people..."

"Okay, Mom will stay with you."

The voice gradually faded.

Sylvia was fast asleep, her little face pressed against her mother's shoulder, a slight smile on her lips.

Moran carried her back to the castle.

The moving castle set sail again the following morning.

Sylvia waved goodbye to the Tatars who had come to see them off from the terrace: "Chief Talam! Everyone! We're leaving now, goodbye!"

The Tatars below immediately responded:
"Safe journey!"

"Let's play again!"

Tamuna's voice was the loudest.

Sylvia's eyes welled up with tears: "Tamuna, I'll come find you again when I grow up, and then we'll hunt together!"

"A word is settled!"

"It's a deal!" (End of Chapter)