The echoes of battle faded slowly, like the last tremors of a storm retreating into distant mountains. Smoke no longer rose in heavy, suffocating plumes; instead, it drifted in thin, wavering strands, dissolving into the cold night air as though even it had lost the will to linger. The scent of scorched earth and burnt fur still clung to the basin, a stubborn reminder of how close the convoy had come to disaster, but the violence itself had passed—at least for now.
Around the camp, recovery unfolded with quiet urgency.
