The caravan continued along the winding road as the morning gradually matured into a bright and pleasant day, with the golden sunlight filtering through the leaves of the forest and casting shifting patterns across the ground. The events of the previous day had already begun to feel strangely distant, almost as though they belonged to another journey entirely, and for the first time since leaving Raven's Crossing, the atmosphere surrounding the group was free from the oppressive tension that had accompanied them before.
Luca walked beside the carriage with his hands resting loosely at his sides, occasionally glancing toward the surrounding forest while listening to the quiet rhythm of the wheels rolling over the dirt road. The mercenaries had returned to their usual conversations, with two of them arguing about whose swordsmanship had been more impressive during the battle while another repeatedly reminded them that surviving was considerably more important than looking impressive.
