The first light of dawn crept slowly between the high cliffs that surrounded the valley.
A thin mist still hung in the air, sweeping over the cracked ground and traces of last night's battle. The iron scent of spilled blood had not yet completely faded, but the atmosphere there felt different.
It was no longer like a battlefield.
Instead, it was like a place that had just weathered a great storm.
The wolves moved slowly among the debris. Some carried the wounded, some dug into the earth to bury those who had fallen. There were no shouted commands, no domination of one pack over another.
Ironclaw worked side by side with North Ridge.
Frostfang helped the exhausted warriors of Stoneveil.
The sight felt almost unreal.
In the middle of the valley, Aurelia stood on the cracked ground. Her long hair moved slowly as it was brushed by the morning wind. The golden light that had burned like the sun last night had now faded, leaving only a faint trace still lingering in the air.
