Boy sat alone at the ridge that oversaw the village, watching the day come to a close.
The sky had dimmed further as hues of orange and purple casted elongated shadows across the ground.
However, unlike the day which was coming to a close, the village below was alive with movement, a stark contrast to the ruin that nearly befallen it earlier.
Survivors worked tirelessly as they worked to clear the debris that littered the streets while salvaging anything useful from what they could find.
A great fire was being lit- not of destruction, but of warmth, as small groups gathered wood from the nearby wooden wreckage and anything burnable as they hastily built a giant campfire right in the heart of the village while sharing what little food remained.
The soft sound of voices shattering, the clang of hammers against wood, and the occasional laughter of children playing, keeping themselves occupied create a strange symphony of resilience.
