A restless wind swept across the clearing, lifting strands of Anna's long, wavy hair and carrying with it the scent of impending rain.
Above them, the sky had darkened into a heavy sheet of charcoal, the last traces of daylight swallowed whole.
Anticipating the storm, the knights had already begun securing the perimeter and erecting additional temporary tents, their movements efficient despite the gathering gloom.
Nearly an hour had passed since the treatment.
The two older men remained unconscious, their breathing shallow but steady. No new lesions had surfaced, yet neither had they stirred.
Armel, however, showed clear signs of improvement.
He was now able to drink without vomiting and had managed to eat small portions of food. The burning heat in his body had lessened, and his fever had gradually receded.
Though his hands still trembled faintly, the ashen pallor had begun to fade from his face, replaced by a fragile flush of colour.
Anna watched them anxiously.
