As the last traces of the blood in the air was washed away by the winds, a relative calm settled over the expedition camp. Fires were lit, tents were checked and re-secured, and the smell of cooked rations—mostly dry meat stew and spirit-grain porridge—began to fill the air.
Some part of the camp had been damaged, food spilled, and some tents moved due to the chaos but now things were being fixed
Despite the earlier ambush, the camp had fallen into an uneasy stillness. Senior disciples moved through the ranks like silent shadows, passing down the orders relayed from the Peak Heads. Their voices were subdued, but the authority in their tone left no room for argument.
"All disciples are to rest now and recover," one of the senior core disciples from Sword Peak barked as he passed a cluster of tents. "We depart at dawn. No delays."
