Hana didn't expect the den to be a palace, but as the heavy stone overhang of Caspian's den came into view, her inner survivalist—the one that associated filth with infection and lack of discipline—felt a vein in her temple throb.
The cave was massive, carved into the side of a rough black peak. It smelled of sulfur, old musk, and the lingering scent of iron.
Scattered across the floor were 'treasures' that any beastman would kill for, but they say all that glitters isn't gold, right? And beauty was in the eyes of the beholder.
Yeah, and this beholder could definitely not see the beauty of these 'treasures'.
Not while it was all littered like filth.
Hana stood at the mouth of the den, her hands on her hips as she slowly shifted, her eyes scanning the interior with the cold, analytical precision of a scavenger finding a fresh ruins site.
To Caspian, this was his legacy. A testament of his influence. But to Hana, it was a biological hazard.
