The Ugly Duckling Of The Tiger Tribe-Chapter 289: The war is done

Okay, I finally put the cubs to sleep again after they sucked to their hearts’ content. I got hungry after them and wondered if we could finally get into West Way and sleep with no worries once the fight was over.

I got up, dusting my behind and then adjusting my cubs carefully in their basket, covering them with the hide in the basket to prevent the night cold from reaching them.

And then, before I walked away, I took one last look at the merman.

It was such a shame we didn’t meet earlier. He would’ve been a great spouse, I believe.

But then again, what could I do with a fish person as a spouse? He can’t walk on land so that means he can’t travel either. He’ll just be left behind, regrettably. It was no different from torturing him.

I smiled, wishing for him to wake up when the time was right, and make his way back into the water... where he belonged.

"Good luck, handsome," I whispered. "I hope the water treats you better going forward."

I turned away, pulling the willow-like leaves back to shield his little alcove. If Garrow’s hyenas were still prowling, I didn’t want them finding these ’spoils of war.’

It would be so tragic.

Then, I began to head back, feeling a light tug in my heart, but I dismissed it as my hunger acting up. A hungry beast is an angry beast, you know.

As I stepped back, the silence that met me was heavier than the roar of the battle had been. The air didn’t just smell like salt anymore; it smelled like iron and wet fur, a sign of the bloody battle that had just taken place.

I stopped in my tracks, my breath hitching as my eyes swept over the scene. It was over. The ’organized chaos’ had turned into a graveyard.

Noah stood near the center of the shoreline, his tall dark frame silhouetted against the moonlight. He wasn’t cheering for his victor. How could he be triumphant?

He stood with his hands down, holding a stick I assumed was previously a spear, looking down at the bodies of the wolves and hyenas at his feet.

His shoulders were slumped, a devastating shadow of guilt and regret crossing his face. I could feel the grief radiating off him as he thought, ’these beasts weren’t supposed to be his enemies to him.’ They were his subjects.

They were the people he was supposed to lead, and now, he had been forced to tear them apart to save the rest.

What a tragic king he was, forced to break his own heart to keep his kingdom’s pulse beating.

Just how much has he had to sacrifice when carrying this heavy crown on his head? And how much more would he have to sacrifice?

How I wished I could drop his head on my shoulder right this instant and pat his back, comforting him the best I could.

Fenric was nearby, wiping a spray of crimson from his jaw. He looked hardened, his eyes still scanning the area for movement, the primal hunter in him not yet ready to settle.

He probably didn’t want to get caught off guard by a surprise attack. That was why he was a beast warrior. Always on guard against any hostilities.

But it was Damar who drew my gaze the most.

He was standing closer to the Singing Stone—on his two legs by the way, he must’ve transformed after the fight ended. His pale skin was drenched in a deep, dark red. Having the souls of many beasts that fell to his tail clinging to his body in the traces of blood they left.

He looked like a reaper, one born to massacre. In his right hand, gripped by the hair, was the severed head of Garrow.

Ah, he definitely meant business when he looked like he’d have Garrow’s head.

Serves him right. How dare he talk about putting me in a cage?

The old badger’s eyes were still open, frozen in a final expression of shocked greed, but the life was long gone. Damar didn’t look disgusted. He didn’t even look angry. He just looked hollow, his emerald eyes tracking the line of the sea, and then as I approached, he turned his head, immediately catching my scent despite the thick smell of copper and seawater in the air.

"Ari," Damar rasped. His voice was light and soft, contrasting with the current image of him.

I didn’t say a word. I couldn’t. I hung the basket to my side with the strap and walked forward, the sand crunching under my boots.

Once I got to where he was, I watched how weary he looked, how pale his emerald eyes had gone, and how tiredly his shoulders had slumped.

I reached out to take the bloody hand that wasn’t holding the head; the one I had noticed was dripping blood onto the sand. I squeezed his fingers, feeling the tremors running through his arm.

He was hurt, but it was fine. This was probably the last time he’d have to get into such a bloody battle for a fight that wasn’t his.

"It’s done," I whispered, though the words felt small against the backdrop of the shore.

"Ari," he called, his eyes shimmering at me. "It’s dirty," he said, looking at the blood that had smeared onto mine, and I let out a curt laugh.

"Is it?"

He probably remembered how I often reacted to either of them getting bloody all over. It wasn’t that I considered them dirty—well, not entirely—but because the thought of the blood being theirs made my stomach churn.

I also think the pregnancy has something to do with it.

In any case, I didn’t care now. Because I knew for a fact that most of the blood on his body wasn’t his.

Noah finally looked up. When his eyes met mine, the regal, tragic mask slipped for just a second, replaced by a raw, aching exhaustion.

He looked at the basket of cubs on my hip, then back at me, and let out a breath that sounded like a sob he wouldn’t allow himself to have.

My heart ached for him and I walked up to him, thinking he definitely needed that shoulder right now, so I reached my hand towards him and pulled his head down, dropping his bloody head on my shoulder.

"They chose this path, Noah," I said, my voice soft. I needed to be the anchor now. "You didn’t fail them. They failed you."

Noah didn’t answer. He just stayed there with his head on my shoulder. I could feel something hot and wet trickling down my shoulder. I knew it was his tears, but I decided to pretend it was the blood dripping down.

I patted his back, hoping that I could at least soothe him for a second.

Fenric walked up to us and patted Noah’s back as well, trying to cheer him up silently.

At the water’s edge, the sea began to glow. Jael surfaced, followed by dozens of other shimmering forms. The wool filters had worked.

The ’bitter dust’ was being pulled into the oily traps, and the mer-folk were waking up one by one, their colorful hair and scales catching the moonlight.

The battle was won, but the cost was written in the red tide at our feet.

"Let’s go," I said, looking between my three husbands. "Into the West Way. It’s time to kick out the last of the beasts who are in support of this mess."

I was sure there were others. I was sure that Garrow had more supporters who didn’t partake in this war. Though more blood may not be shed, we needed to knock some sense into those foolish beasts.

"Ah, wait a minute," I halted in my steps before we could have that finishing victory walk back to the gates.

The three of them looked back at me and I looked at them.

"Seriously, are we planning to announce that we’ll be shedding more blood? This is definitely not the way to approach things."

This could work as a fear factor for the remnants of Garrow’s faction, but it could also put them on edge, thinking the King was coming for their head for sure. So, they would decide to strike first and take down the already exhausted king at the gate.

I can’t have a work breaking out already, so it’s best to approach peacefully, so they know we have no plans of shedding more blood.

And so, the three of them who participated in the great slaughter took a bath in the lake nearby, turning the shimmering lake to a light flushed red, and washing away the sins of the night.

No one can probably use that lake anymore but it didn’t matter. It was simply a testament to the battle that took place, along with the sands on the shore.

And so, we made our way to the gates and entered West Way with the Hundreds of pink-skinned sheep in tow, dropping the message that if they didn’t want to have their heads hanging on a spear like Garrow’s, they better surrender and confess all their wrongdoings.

And with that, all the beasts that joined Garrow in the coup fell to their knees with their heads bowed.

That marked the end of the war. Now, it’s time to eat.

And yes, of course I still have an appetite after all that blood and gore I saw. I have beast blood running through my veins. A little gore can’t stop me from eating.