The group of sharp-mouthed birds was beaten into a mess. There were feathers on the ground, and blood was soaked into the snow. It was especially glaring.
The few survivors were already scared out of their wits. They flapped their wings and fled in a sorry state.
Huanhuan stabbed the dragon spear into the snow. She held the spear and panted. "I'm so tired."
There was also some blood on the Silvery Frost White Wolf, but it was all blood from the sharp-mouthed birds. He was unscathed.
He spat out the feathers in his mouth and glanced at Huanhuan. "Aren't you very powerful? You're so tired after dealing with so few minions?"
Huanhuan waved her hand. "You don't understand the hardships of old people."
She was thousands of years old. It was easy to twist her waist from such sudden and intense exercise.
The polar bear carried Qianqian over. She was tired from crying and had fallen asleep in her father's arms.