The rain did not ease simply because they had survived.
It continued to fall in heavy sheets, drumming against leaves and stone, soaking into clothes and hair as the group lay scattered at the base of the mountain, bodies still trembling from the aftermath of the descent. For a while, no one spoke. The silence wasn't peaceful—it was hollow, filled with ringing ears, burning muscles, and the delayed realization that they were still alive.
One by one, they began to move.
Max was the first to sit up fully, letting out a sharp hiss as he looked down at his hands. His palms were raw, skin split and bleeding in uneven lines where the braking log had chewed through whatever protection his gloves once offered. He clenched and unclenched his fingers experimentally, jaw tightening as pain flared.
"Damn it…" he muttered under his breath, tearing a strip of fabric from his sleeve and wrapping it around his worst cuts with practiced efficiency.
