The battlefield quieted at last, though the air was still heavy with the stench of blood and the growls of the bound beasts.
"Casualties… count them," Lumberling ordered, his voice steady but low.
The reports came back, each word like a stone.
Two of the kobold berserkers had fallen during the battle. Their bodies were laid side by side, eyes closed, their once-burning fury gone cold.
A silence spread among the ranks. No one moved, no one spoke. The clash of battle had been replaced by the stillness of loss. Spears rested against the ground, shields lowered.
Lumberling stood with them in that quiet. He didn't speak empty comfort. He simply bowed his head, honoring the dead in silence.
The final tally was grim. Five hobgoblins dead. Seven elite kobolds lost. Thirty-eight more wounded, though most would recover with time.
Lumberling clenched his jaw. So many lives gone. So many that might've been saved, if only he had healers under his command.
