The battlefield smelled of smoke and blood long after the fighting stopped. The valley that had once been alive with mist and green grass now looked like a graveyard. Blackened earth stretched in every direction, and the cries of the wounded carried into the night like a mournful song.
Evelyn stood at the heart of it, her sword heavy in her hand, her body trembling from exhaustion. She wanted nothing more than to collapse, to let her legs give way beneath her. But eyes were on her. Her warriors, battered and bloodied, still looked to her for strength. She could not falter while they watched.
George came to her side, his face grim and streaked with ash. He had wrapped a makeshift bandage around his arm, but the blood still seeped through. "We won," he said, his voice rough, as though the words tasted bitter.
