By the time Feng Yiren came stomping back with an angry face and a few early red bumps already rising on his shoulders and neck, the group had already decided to head back to the tribe.
Mu Qingyi had cooled the fox's stings with crushed leaves despite Feng Yiren acting as if he had not asked for help, and Hu Baiyu had made sure Lin Huahua was back on safer ground, because Lin Huahua requested not to be carried again.
Then all four of them started walking back together, or in Feng Yiren's case, stalking back like an offended prince who had just lost a war to insects.
The closer they got to the tribe, the busier the village looked.
Primitive-age life was already in full motion by the time they returned. Smoke rose from fire pits. Males with broad bare chests and hide beast skirts were skinning prey near stone tables.
Some were carrying water in large hollowed gourds, while others were cutting hides, weaving baskets, sorting herbs, or hanging strips of meat to dry.
