Spring didn’t arrive in Nightfall with flowers.
It arrived with mud.
Thick, boot-stealing, pup-covering mud that had Mara swearing about footprints and half the warriors complaining about needing three pairs of socks a day.
It also arrived with something else: the first proper celebration Nightfall had allowed itself in months.
“Thaw Feast,” Lena explained to Aria as they hauled extra benches into the hall. “We made it through another winter without starving or killing each other. We cook too much food and remind ourselves why we bother.”
“Does it always happen now?” Aria asked, balancing one end of a bench on her shoulder.
“Every year,” Lena said. “Different date, same principle. Survival deserves noise.”
By dusk, the hall was transformed.
Tables bowed under the weight of food — s
