Dawn came soft as fog drifted over the south field, the air smelling like sap and smoke. The corpse of the Thorn Crown Behemorph lay broken where it fell. Its crown was shattered, and its eyes were dark having lost all signs of life.
The wall still stood, barely.
Cracks ran across it like spiderwebs through stone and root. Arrows stuck out at odd angles, and blood darkened the moss, evident of the brutal siege that these warriors just survived. The lamps flickered, then steadied.
No one cheered now though, the cheering had burned out in the night. Now all that was left was only work.
Clayton walked the parapet. His legs were heavy and tired, his hands trembled but he didn't let it show as he walked with his back straight, Awakened warriors greeting him respectfully as he passed.
Regalia rested across his back, quiet at last.
