The sun had barely begun to rise, casting a faint glow over the Silver Mane Tribe. The air was still cool and crisp, but the tribe was already wide awake, buzzing with excitement. Hundreds of Silver Mane orcs gathered at the massive stone gate that towered over their settlement like the wall of a fortress. The mood was electric.
Word had spread quickly: news of a triumphant night. The Silver Mane Tribe had sent out troops in the dark, their mission swift and ruthless. By dawn, they had crushed five smaller tribes, sweeping through them like a storm. The werewolves from those defeated tribes were now being escorted in, their heads low, wrists bound, and faces pale with exhaustion.