The jungle released me slowly, branches and vines pulling back like guards stepping aside for a soldier who had walked through a war and come out the other side. The sunlight hit my face all at once, warm and golden, and I had to squint against the sudden brightness after so long beneath the green canopy.
I stopped at the edge of the tree line.
The village clearing stretched out before me, not Wayford, but the encampment where the knights had made their base. Tents stood in neat rows, their canvas walls pale against the green grass. Smoke rose from cookfires, carrying the smell of bread and something savory that made my stomach growl despite everything.
Knights moved between the tents, some carrying supplies, others tending to wounds, a few sitting in small circles with their heads bowed and their shoulders heavy. The battle was over, but the weight of it still pressed down on everyone who had survived.
...And the children.
