Over all the mood across the settlement was a strange, intoxicating blend of constant hustle and profound peace.
Children ran screaming through the side lanes chasing runaway hens, their games uninterrupted by the old terrors of Coalition
Women sat out on sun-warmed benches beneath the trees, mending cloaks and trading jokes with neighboring hearths while large pots of meat stew simmered over crackling pits.
Old men who used to spend their afternoons snarling around over firewood rations were now strutting about with their polished canes, puffing their chests out and passionately arguing over where the clan should raise its fourth dry-storage lodge.
…
The rhythm of the Veynar had settled into a steady, thriving pulse of budding paramount chiefdom, but the ripples of their absolute victory were spreading far beyond the immediate valley.
