Isabella rolled her eyes at the painfully familiar voice. She didn't need to turn to know who it was—but of course, she did, if only to confirm the nightmare.
Garan.
The moment she turned, there he was, gliding toward her like the sun was hired to light only his path. His bronze skin glistened in the daylight like he bathed in melted gold, and as usual, he wore far too little clothing for a man so loud. Just a hide skirt that barely reached his knees, and two flamboyant bursts of colorful feathers strapped to each shoulder like he was attending a bird-themed royal wedding.
But that wasn't the worst part.
Trailing behind him like the beginning of a parade were a group of women, each dressed in modest wraps, their arms stretched out carefully, balancing the most luxurious fur hides Isabella had ever seen. Glossy, rare, thick with quality. These weren't your average beast skins. These were the kind you hang on cave walls when you're trying to flex on the entire tribe.
