Azura's POV
The meat smelled good. That was not something I had expected to think this morning, standing in a camp that still carried the memory of yesterday's fight in the way the warriors moved and the way nobody was speaking too loudly.
But the smell of roasting meat over a rebuilt fire had a way of cutting through everything else and reminding people that they were still alive and still hungry, and those two things had a way of mattering more than almost anything.
Torin was crouching by the fire turning the meat on the makeshift spit, his sleeves pushed up, looking completely unbothered, which was either because he was genuinely unbothered or because he had decided that looking unbothered was the most useful thing he could offer the group right now. With Torin, it was always hard to tell which one it was.
I sat nearby with Liona, both of us close enough to the fire to feel it properly, waiting.
