The villagers, working alongside Thornefang, began the grim task of clearing the battlefield. They moved the dead with stiff arms and pale faces, gathering whatever gear, weapons, or scraps of armor could still be salvaged.
They moved in silence, burdened by the grim task and the stench of blood-soaked earth. Thornefang guided the process with efficiency, but there was no joy in their movements, only the necessity of it.
They chose a clearing beyond the village's edge for the pyres.
Lucen looked at the faces of the fallen enemies, well, the ones that still had faces. Many of them were simply teens around Milos's age. They were a little older than he, still, children nonetheless. Only a few that could be seen would be considered adults.
