The morning after the bloody battle came quietly, as though the world itself wished to forget the screams of the night before. The sun rose over the treeline in a soft gold haze, casting light on the camp where knights, squires, and attendants moved, still weary from the battle that happened a day before. Smoke from the last of the bonfires curled into the pale sky, carrying with it the scent of ash and roasted boar.
Some of the Wyndham knights, though still shaken from the battle, managed to settle into the rhythm of the Borgia camp. At first, they had sat stiffly around the fire, silent and uneasy, their eyes drifting again and again to the dark treeline. But once the smell of roasted boar filled the air, their tension began to ease. One by one, they joined the Borgia knights, accepting wooden plates heaped with meat and bread.
