They set up a small campfire to withhold against the desert cold. The men weren't ready to chase after Daurgien, and he was already gone, disappeared into the night.
The campfire crackled, casting flickering shadows over the gathered group. The air was thick with tension as Jolthar stood before Daus, his piercing gaze unwavering.
The elder's shoulders slumped, weariness etched into his face, not just from the fight but from the weight of the truth he had carried for decades.
Jolthar broke the silence, his voice cold and steady. "I think you owe us an explanation, Jarl Daus."
Daus hesitated, his eyes darting to Sgard and men of his tribe. Sgard, who had stayed behind during the battle, was now helping the warriors. Around them, the tribe's warriors nursed their own injuries, their faces grim but relieved to be alive.
At Jolthar's words, Daus let out a heavy sigh. "Yes, I know him. Daurgien… He was my brother."
