The dagger was still embedded in the eye socket of the Indigenous Warrior.
The sun gradually sunk beneath the horizon, and the once noisy and bustling forest returned to silence.
The stench of blood and decay emanating from the corpse lured scavenging insects, which in turn attracted birds and omnivorous rodents, all frantically vying for food, circling and calling.
A gentle breeze blew, causing leaves to softly drift down, landing on the agonized and fierce face of the Indigenous Warrior, slipping into small crevices secluded by plank-like roots.
Here, he will decompose, becoming sustenance for the earth.
...
Chen Zhou always felt that there was a difficult-to-remove smell of blood on his hands.
He tried crushing petals, breaking open plant leaves, using their sap to cleanse his hands, but to no avail.
