Sol pushed himself up from the muddy bank, his body protesting with a chorus of dull aches, but the sharp, blinding agony was already receding. The cold river water had done its job… washing away the blood and shocking his nerves into a manageable numbness.
He made his way back to the shadowed alley, retrieving the heavy clay cauldron he had thrown, before confrontation, and damn, due to injuries It felt heavy, awkward, and pressed against his bruised ribs, but he hoisted it with a grim determination.
The walk back to the hut was a performance. He had to walk upright, hide the limp, and mask the tremor in his hands.
When he finally pushed aside the leather flap of the doorway, the warmth of the fire instantly improved his mood compared to cold darkness outside. Aunt Lyra and the girls were there, pacing around anxiously, but aunt lyra was practically vibrating with anxiety, with Arelia trying to comfort her.
