The hush that had settled over the village was shattered by the sharp crunch of boots against dirt. A small group of figures pushed forward from the gathering crowd, their movements slow but deliberate.
Florian could see it in their eyes—the barely restrained hostility, the way their hands clenched at their sides as if grasping weapons that weren't there. Their faces were gaunt, skin stretched too thin over sharp bones, their eyes sunken into hollow sockets. Yet, despite their clear exhaustion, there was something dangerous in the way they carried themselves. A quiet, simmering anger.
"Outsiders," one of them spat, his voice like gravel scraping against stone, grated raw from either the cold or something deeper. His lips curled back, revealing teeth worn down by time and hardship. "You are disrupting the peace of our village."
'Peace?' Florian's stomach twisted. 'Everyone here looks like they're barely clinging to life…'
