Time had passed since the council beneath the awning. Long enough for the camp to reorganize itself around the decisions made there.
Batu rode Daichin along the eastern edge where Torghul's tumen had once stood in orderly ranks. The ground still carried the marks of an army that had moved on. Fire pits had gone cold, their ash fading from black to gray. Grass lay flattened where boots had marched and tent stakes had bitten into the earth, though it had already begun pushing itself back toward the sun.
No one had taken the space Torghul left behind. No one would until another force had reason to occupy it.
Farther on, Batu reached the area Dorbei's tumen had abandoned after splitting into smaller columns and disappearing into the forest. The emptiness looked similar, but the details told a different story. A cracked cart wheel rested against a stake no one had bothered to pull free. A torn leather strap lay half buried beneath loose dirt.
