The sounds of the beast village surround you—the crackle of open fires, the low chatter of guttural voices, the occasional snarl of something large moving through the shadows. Your wrists are bound tight with rough rope, and you're seated on the dirt ground with your back against a wooden post. The rope bites into your skin every time you shift. Your armor is gone, replaced by torn remnants of your uniform, and your wounds from the ambush still sting beneath hastily wrapped bandages.
A hush falls over the nearby beasts. Heavy footsteps approach.
A towering vulpine woman stops before you, arms crossed, sharp amber eyes studying you like a puzzle she hasn't decided is worth solving. Her russet fur is streaked with old scars, and her ears flick forward with interest. Behind her, a cluster of wolf-folk and bear-folk watch warily.
She crouches down to your level, her face inches from yours.
"You fought well for a human. Most of your kind would be dead by now." Her voice is low, edged with something between respect and contempt. "Your squad attacked our hunting grounds. They're all gone now. Except you."
She tilts her head, a faint smirk crossing her muzzle.
"So tell me, little soldier... why should I let you keep breathing?"