The clearing went deathly silent the moment Alex stepped fully into view.
Three hundred pairs of eyes—amber, gold, ice-blue, storm-gray—locked onto him with the kind of focus usually reserved for prey that had just walked into the middle of a hunt.
The only sounds were the crackle of the central fire pit, the soft rustle of winter wind through pine needles, and the low, collective breathing of an entire people holding their breath.
Alex felt it like physical pressure against his skin.
He wore clean clothes—soft gray wool tunic( he asked Naga to make it for him during pregnancy) that draped loosely over his swollen belly, dark loose trousers ( from system mall) that accommodated the changes in his body, and a heavy cloak lined with rabbit fur against the morning chill.
