The liquid was a bit acrid, almost reminiscent of alcohol, though there was none in it. Despite some of the beastmen tribes having a tradition of some alcohol before battle, the werewolf didn't agree with it and so she never partook. Eventually, the shamans learned to brew the concoction other ways without it losing its bite. Really, all it did was calm the stomach as many young warriors were prone to prebattle jitters.

Dipping one claw into her bowl (now held by one of the shaman), coating it with her own blood, Taryn reached out to the British ruler and went to move her bangs out of the way with her other hand. She then drew with the bright red blood a symbol on the woman's forehead. It felt very much like an upward arrow.

"Arturia Pendragon, as we face this battle, you are of my blood. I take you into my pack until our enemy is defeated," Taryn said, her voice resonating with that special Ahroun ability to inspire other to follow her into battle. It was never a conscious decision of hers to use, even in cases like this where it really wasn't necessary.

The wolf-woman then dipped her claw back into the bowl and painted a line of crimson on each of Arturia's cheekbones. Taryn then nodded and took her hand back, pleased with how the blood, glistening bright red in the morning light dripping just a tiny bit from the lines, gave Arturia a savage fierceness that the stoic woman didn't normally exude. Perfect for running in a temporary pack with a werewolf.

"Or we fall to an honorable and glorious death"