His mate slapped the back of his head so hard, he nearly bit his tongue.
"What is wrong with you, eh?" she snapped. "Has the sun cooked your brain?"
The man stumbled forward, holding his head, utterly betrayed.
"I used to think like you," she said, stepping out boldly now, standing in front of her mate and facing the rest. "I thought it was fine to smell like animal fur and dirt. But she—" she pointed at Isabella, "—taught us that smelling good and feeling clean isn't weak. It's power. It's pride."
There were murmurs from the other women, nods of agreement, and one loud "Yes!" from someone in the back.
The woman continued, hands on her hips. "She taught us about keeping our bodies clean, about keeping our homes clean. Because we're not ba-ba—"
She stumbled, the word foreign on her tongue. Her mate blinked, confused. Everyone turned to look at her.
Isabella stepped in smoothly, one brow raised and arms crossed. "Barbarians," she supplied, voice dry and loaded with sarcasm.
