The dawn came heavy with an unspoken tension that pressed against the skin of everyone in the camp. The light seeped across the horizon, pale and cold, casting the world in muted hues that seemed to dull even the vibrant reds and oranges of the forest trees. The wind whispered through the leaves, carrying with it the weight of a thousand untold stories.
Elara stood at the edge of the camp, her hands resting on the hilt of the dagger strapped to her waist. Her eyes scanned the terrain, taking in the way the shadows stretched long across the land, how every rustle of leaves seemed louder in the quiet that followed the night's decisions. She had not slept; none of them had. Rest felt like a luxury they couldn't afford.
