The heat of sex still lingered in the air, heavy, mixed with the smell of leather and dried blood.
On the ground, a few steps from the war table, Liora Veyra still lay unconscious, a fur blanket thrown over her naked body. Her slow breathing barely lifted the hide, but each movement betrayed that she was still alive. Her pale hair was scattered around her face like a halo soiled with sweat.
Around her, the tent had changed function. In the center stood a large table of raw wood, covered with hastily scribbled maps, colored stones serving as markers, and a few blades laid down as if they were part of the plan. The torches planted in the ground diffused a red, trembling light, casting hard shadows on their faces.
