By dawn, the Wolf Clan was gone, leaving only blackened timbers and the well, miraculously intact. The villagers emerged to find ash, silence, and a single sign: the miller’s daughter, alive, untied, sitting by the well with a cut on her cheek and a look of hollow wonder. “She said to tell you,” the girl whispered, “‘Next time, leave the silver on the road. We’ll take that too.’”
The hour passed. The barbarians descended. Torches bloomed like orange flowers against the thatch. a village targeted by barbarians
He didn’t finish. Everyone knew.