"Let's pack it up," Timur said, his voice low and steady as he straightened the straps of his gear, the faint creak of worn leather following the motion. The air was still damp from the night mist, heavy with the scent of trampled soil and dried blood. Around them, the scattered remnants of battle had begun to cool. Broken branches, split shields, and the occasional glint of steel half-buried in the muck.
Without another word, the group moved to board the carriage that waited just off the road, its dark lacquered wood dulled by a thin coat of forest dust. Horses snorted and shifted, their hooves striking the ground in anxious intervals, sensing the tension that hadn't yet left the air.
Robin lingered by the wheel, his dark hood casting a long shadow over his cheekbones. "I'll stay up top," he said, motioning toward the roof with a tilt of his chin. "Someone needs to keep an eye on the trail ahead." he added.
