Lucas
The scent of smoke lingers in the air, mixing with the adrenaline pumping through my veins. I survey the aftermath of the attack, the remnants of the fire that had engulfed the territory. The flames have been extinguished, but the scars left behind serve as a haunting reminder of the chaos that unfolded moments ago.
The grounds are charred and smouldering, and heat radiates from the ground. The grass under my feet is burnt and brittle, a blackened layer of ash and dirt covers the ground.
The flames had consumed all that was before them, leaving nothing but black soot, ash, and crumbling timber in their wake. The fireplaces are cold and dead, the hearths ransacked and filled with junk. The tables are overturned and broken, and the chairs are broken and scattered on the ground. The scent of ash and sweat lingers in the air, the scent of panic.
