Dawn crept over the jagged rim of the canyon, casting long crimson shadows across the quiet expedition camp.
Hajin woke before the trumpeter blew the muster call, gently dabbing at his lower lip where the dried blood formed a thin, tight scab.
The swollen cut ached with a dull, throbbing pressure whenever he tightened his jaw, reminding him vividly of the blunt pommel strike on the dunes.
Across the embers of the central fire pit, Juna knelt upon a coarse wool blanket, carefully packing dried provisions into canvas travel haversacks.
Her fluffy white wolf tail swayed in a wide, graceful arc as her eyes lifted to meet Hajin's gaze with silent, affectionate warmth.
The divine wolf girl carried an air of serene readiness, her silver-trimmed robes neatly belted and her twin hunting daggers polished to a mirror finish.
Loccy sat cross-legged beside the third supply wagon, vigorously scrubbing a tarnished grease stain from the head of her massive war hammer with an oiled rag.
