Chapter 42 The Price Of Leadership

• Dawn crept reluctantly through the gray clouds, still heavy with the remnants of the night’s rain. The scent of damp earth mingled with the bitter trace of dried blood, charred wood, and sorrow. Tree branches hung low like silent witnesses to the chaos they had endured. In that forgotten corner of the forest, the aftermath felt like a shared mourning — a voiceless lament clinging to the skin and soul.
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• The packs stood still among fog-covered hills. No one spoke aloud. Grief hung thick in the air. Some howled for their dead. Others clenched their jaws, holding tight to life. The wounded lay swathed in makeshift blankets, trembling from cold or fever. Skender and the healers worked tirelessly, their hands smeared with mud and blood. Some bodies, wrapped in dark cloth, awaited their final farewell.