After the last human cart vanishes into the smoke, Sorin sweeps her gaze over the carnage.
"Strip everything worth taking," she orders curtly. "Load the goods into the carts. Send them back to the main before dawn."
Her soldiers move immediately, dragging crates of grain, barrels of water, and sacks of coin from shattered homes and abandoned stalls. Broken furniture and bloodstained linens are tossed aside without a glance.
Once the last cart creaks away into the darkness, Sorin speaks again, her voice carrying over the crackle of flames. "That's enough for tonight. Rest. We move at first light."
Thurn said. "You heard her—find a roof, or what's left of one, and get some sleep. We'll need it."
Nyssara steps past a smoking pile of rubble, her pale hair glinting red in the firelight. "Pick the spots with the least screaming," she says dryly, earning a few dark chuckles from nearby soldiers.
