The Battle 8.1

Unlike the days before, the sky that day seemed heavy, covered with thick, sluggish clouds, gray in color and moving slowly, as if holding something heavy inside. The sunlight, which often shone, seemed dim, barely able to penetrate the gaps between the reluctant clouds.

The wind blew softly, carrying a chill that crept into every corner, enveloping everyone in an unusual silence. His breeze was no longer soothing. Instead, it carried a mournful sound that made the leaves rustle in mourning.

In the distance, birds that usually flew around cheerfully singing seemed to be silent on the branches. Their wings were drooping. Their gazes were empty, directed nowhere.

Everything was somber. Everything felt desolate. Even the little river flowing by could not hide its sad glow. Every ripple in the water was a harbinger of sorrow. It told the world of the deep loss they felt.

Without exception. No one could withstand the onslaught of grief as the news spread throughout Frostholm territory. The