Smoke drifted slowly across the broken clearing.
Ash clung to the cold morning air.
The battle had ended hours ago, yet the forest still carried the echo of claws tearing through flesh and the deep thunder of wolves crashing into one another beneath the black sky, and even now the ground looked wounded where trees had splintered and soil had been torn open by desperate bodies fighting for survival.
Elara stood near the edge of the ruined field with her arms wrapped around herself as if the simple gesture could hold together the trembling quiet inside her chest, and the faint smell of blood mixed with smoke drifted past her face while distant voices of healers and guards moved across the clearing like restless ghosts searching for the living among the fallen.
Two medics carried a wounded wolf past her.
The man groaned softly.
