Chapter 28: A calm Morning
The next day arrived with a golden glow brushing the treetops, spilling warmth across the frostbitten forest.
Even though it was winter, the sky was clear, and the sun shone brightly—an unusual but welcomed sight after the chaos of the past days.
The vast clearing where the witches had taken shelter was still littered with the remnants of last night's bonfire.
Most of them had fallen asleep huddled near its fading heat, bundled in cloaks and makeshift blankets, while the flame's dying embers kept the cold at bay.
Gradually, the witches began to stir, rubbing their eyes and stretching out sore limbs.
One by one, they rose and moved about, returning to their daily tasks. Some prepared food, others checked their potions or organized the supplies for what was to come.
Despite the threat looming over them, there was a strange peace to the morning, a quietness that didn't quite belong.
Menma was the last to rise.
He had chosen to sleep away from the group, perched in the arms of a wide-branched tree with his arms wrapped tightly around his sword.
His body was stiff from the cold, and a yawn slipped from his lips as he opened his eyes.
With a slight grunt, he dropped down from the branch, landing lightly on the forest floor. Still half-asleep, he stumbled over to the nearby well, scooped up a handful of icy water, and splashed it against his face.