The celebrations in Westmont carried deeper and deeper into the night.
For the people, it was a time to revel in victory, to forget their wounds and losses, even if just for a little while.
Their lord had commanded and approved their celebration, and they obeyed with full hearts, knowing that in the coming days, they would mourn the fallen. But tonight, they drank and feasted in honor of their survival.
Damien sat alone, away from the center of the festivities, watching as the townspeople and soldiers lost themselves in merriment.
Mugs of ale clashed together, spilling foam onto the ground as warriors roared with laughter, boasting of their bravery on the battlefield.
The air was thick with the scent of grilled meats and burning torches, the sounds of cheerful singing filling the night. Amidst it all, some women danced and others served more meat and ale to people around.
