The trashing sounds and hissing coming from outside the shelter were hard to ignore, but Nyell did his best to turn a deaf ear and resumed eating his breakfast. Even if he wanted to see how the trio fared in battle and gauge their abilities, he wasn't crazy enough to peek at a fight involving a basilisk. If his gaze were to meet with the giant serpent's, it'd result in death for him, and Nyell still loved his life very much, so no thank you.
Nyell might not be the most knowledgeable werewolf, but even he knew there were countless myths surrounding the power behind basilisks' gazes. Despite their disparities, there was one thing they all had in common: they all warned about how deadly these things' eyes were. An old legend passed down in the Black Moon tribe recounted how, no matter how strong-willed a being was, there was nothing they could do once their eyes met theirs. From that moment on, they were doomed. According to their records, a basilisk's gaze could infect its prey with fear so fierce it paralyzed the poor victim in place. Your heart would skip a beat, then two and three, until it eventually stopped beating. To fight a basilisk, one had to be able to move around without relying on their eyesight or time their blinking perfectly so that their gazes never crossed. Although Nyell was confident in his fighting skills, he wasn't arrogant. Fighting blindly against such an opponent would be akin to courting death.
But considering how collected Myrven had been when he left the shelter, he probably had a way to do so. He was either immune to the basilisk's deadly gaze or knew how to fight without meeting its eyes. Or perhaps he was able to fight without sight. Whatever the case, it intrigued Nyell greatly. He could always question him later.
Strangely enough, he didn't doubt Myrven would come out victorious. He somehow knew he had nothing to worry about, which was quite weird in itself. Where was this certitude coming from…?
Before Nyell could dwell upon that thought further, a movement on his right caught his attention. He cocked an eyebrow slightly as he watched Allen wipe off the dirt on Layla's face, his movement slow and gentle. The woman had closed her eyes while her chief was passing a piece of wet cloth over her forehead, followed by her cheeks and chin. She didn't hiss nor grimace once while Allen cleaned up the scratches and cuts. Again, Nyell felt like he was watching a father taking care of his kid. The man's every movement was too paternal. The thing, however, was that there didn't seem to be that many years between the two. Layla did appear younger, but not by that much. It created an odd sight.
"I've been wondering," Nyell decided to ask in a teasing tone while still munching on his breakfast, peering at Allen, "are you her father or something?"
"Well," Allen smiled, "something like that, yes."
Layla blinked before tilting her head to look at Nyell, who had forgotten how to swallow his food. She smiled brightly at him and nodded, confirming Allen's answer. She tugged on her chief's sleeve as if to tell him to explain more. The confused look on Nyell was too glaring.
"Let's just say she's been in my care since her early childhood," Allen obediently followed Layla's silent request. "I pretty much raised her, so, yes, I am something akin to her guardian."
"…You don't seem very much older. It's hard to imagine a child taking care of another child."
"I have always been quite mature for my age."
The reply made Nyell frown. If he was honest, he could not imagine that man ever being filled with childlike innocence. In his mind, he was born with an annoying, smug smile and a smart mouth. No matter how hard Nyell tried, he could not visualize Allen as a baby or a boy. Even as a teenager, it was borderline. It just didn't fit this jerk's personality.
"You're thinking of something rude, aren't you?"
"No, of course not," Nyell coughed, caught red-handed. He quickly tried to change the subject, although not very subtly. "How did she come under your care? You don't strike me as someone who takes others under their wing easily. It seems to be too much of a bother to you. Quite honestly, it makes people wonder why the heck you were chosen as the chief, as you don't appear to give a shit about your people. I mean, how many fellow tribe members did you leave to fend for themselves in my tribe again? No matter how annoying they are, they're still members of your tribe, yet you're not providing them any help whatsoever."
"I may be their chief, but I'm not forgiving. Why should I help when they came over to your tribe to screw me over and sell me off?" Allen replied as he examined Layla's wounds. Her wrist was severely damaged, but it was already regenerating itself. The nerves, bones, blood vessels, and muscles were regrowing, filling in the hole. As always, her healing ability was astonishing. "There are people I met who I wish to protect and others who I don't. Layla falls in the first category. You too, if you're wondering."
At Allen's words, Nyell choked on the bite he was about to swallow. Sometimes, Allen's straightforwardness took him aback, and he didn't know how to react. How could he say these cheesy lines with a straight face? Thanks to that, Nyell had no clever comeback in mind right now, so he decided to switch the conversation to something else. He refused to acknowledge the man's words.
"Are you hungry, Layla?" Nyell turned his attention to the petite woman. "Myrven's cooking is god darn tasty! Hurry and take a bite."
That said, he tried to hand her a piece of meat, but she refused it with a wave of her hand. Instead, she went for the broth that was still steaming. Myrven had prepared a bowl for her on the side, and she slowly drank it, her eyes curving as she savored the delicious soup. She smacked her lips in delight, appearing quite satisfied with the broth. Considering how appetizing it smelled, it was no wonder. Maybe, just maybe, Nyell felt a little jealous. However, he hid it and mumbled as if to comfort himself:
"The meat is good too, you know? You sure you don't want to take a bite?"
No one answered him, and Nyell got the cue. He didn't pursue the matter. If Layla didn't want to eat the meat, who was he to force it down her throat? Although he must admit, Layla's refusal felt a little strange, as werewolves were usually very, very fond of meat. They had carnivorous tendencies that were hard to subdue: their eating habit usually involved wolfing down meat in the morning, at noon, and in the evening—sometimes, even as a late-night snack.
But now that Nyell thought about it, he hadn't seen Layla touch a single serving of meat since they met. He hadn't paid attention to it before. Maybe the White Moon tribe's eating habits were different from every other werewolf tribe. After all, these pompous guys loved to claim wide and loud that they weren't like everyone else and were more refined. Still, an odd feeling was bubbling up in the pit of his stomach. Nyell couldn't pinpoint why exactly. He only knew something felt off. Well, considering everything was abnormal about Layla, just as it was about Myrven and Allen, he shouldn't be too bothered by Layla's diet.
To start with, Nyell couldn't say for sure she was a werewolf. Layla did smell like one, but her overall ability put her lineage into perspective. First off, her regenerative abilities were out of this world, even for a werewolf, and her stealth skill… Maybe she was a hybrid? Half-werewolves weren't common, especially since werewolf tribes tended to be wary of outsiders, but they did exist. They were generally very frail, however. Two species' genes rarely mixed well together, and it either broke down the body or somehow managed to find a very delicate balance.
'Well, shamans are supposed to be frail, too,' Nyell snorted to himself as he glanced at Allen, who was busy cleaning up. 'I need to stop thinking conventionally and start seeing things in a new light, or I won't be able to adapt to the White Moon tribe. Although… These three monsters must be an exception. I sure hope so.'
"Are you done eating?" Myrven's voice traveled to their ears as he made his way inside, dusting his hands. It drew back Nyell's attention to the present. "The sun is up, and the beasts are going to sleep. We better get moving."
"Right…."
The trashing sound had disappeared, and the surrounding area had grown silent, something that was quite unnerving in the usually noisy jungle. But it wasn't too surprising, considering a basilisk had been roaming around seconds ago. Every living being with some survival instinct must have fled the vicinity. They wouldn't come back any time soon. One of the prerequisites to living a long life in the jungle was the ability to detect danger and run away from it, and a basilisk ranked high among the things that had to be avoided at all costs. But unfortunately for the basilisk, it met an even more dangerous being.
Nyell bit his bottom lip. Myrven's clothes hadn't even been dirtied during the fight, and he wasn't disheveled. There was no splatter of blood on him whatsoever. It was as if he had gone out to take a walk, not take out a blood-thirsty monster!