As the morning dawned, the group looked utterly worn out. They hadn't slept a wink, their bodies and minds drained from the relentless march through the night. Fatigue painted their faces, evident in the heavy bags under their eyes and the drooping of their shoulders.
Every step they took seemed like an arduous task, their energy depleted and their movements sluggish. They dragged their feet, their legs heavy and protesting with each stride. The exhaustion weighed them down, sapping their strength and leaving them feeling sluggish and slow.
The worry etched on their faces was palpable, a constant reminder of the dangers that lurked in every shadow. Their brows furrowed with concern, their eyes scanning the surroundings with weary vigilance. The fear of an ambush or attack kept them on high alert, their nerves frayed, and their senses heightened.
"We need to take a breath here," Roan suddenly said after he looked around. "Everyone is exhausted, and we need to tend our wounds."
