The crescent moon hung like a hook, with its delicate light peering through the dense forest surrounding the cave, spying on the small village nestled within.
Tata Village was different from ordinary villages; it lay on the outskirts of the cave forest, with towering red pines and low houses arranged in an orderly fashion.
The gray-green steep rooftops blended seamlessly with the red pines, making Tata Village difficult to discern at night unless the lights were on.
Unlike its usual tranquility, tonight Tata Village was brightly lit.
Amidst the gathering torches and oil lamps, donkeys and horse-drawn carts were slowly being led forward by the crowd.
Drivers, people holding lambs, carrying boxes, balancing silk, or hoisting sacks—every step they took, a few shiny silver coins tumbled from their bundles and vanished into the underbrush.
Yet behind them, Tata Village faintly carried the stench of blood and corpses.
