The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the ravaged battlefield in hues of blood orange, yellow and red. It had been hours since the battle had wrapped up. Hours spent amidst the groans and choked sobs of the wounded pack members, the scent of urine, vomit and metallic tang of blood heavy in the air, clinging to our clothes, our skin, and our hair. The initial surge of adrenaline, the frenzied dance of survival, had long since dissipated, leaving a bone-deep weariness that seemed to weigh down every limb.
Hours had blurred into a macabre chore of dragging limbs, tying tourniquets, and whispering prayers to the Goddess, some for the living to heal quickly, but most for the dead. We worked in a grim silence, punctuated only by the ragged sobs of the injured and the mournful cries and scr
