Eventually, they had done all that could be done for the evening. New Wardens chosen, Old Wardens somehow dealt with, bodies moved to be buried (with the cold, they would not rot from waiting a night) and building rubble cleared for the time being, everyone had to go and rest before they could continue. A flaw of humans, but there had to be a lull for them all to collect themselves before they could rebuild.
Morgan though, could not rest. Her chest was still thumping hours later, hate and anger and despair and victory all at once in her heart. Sat on the battlements of the gate, staring down at the blood on the snow, some from her guards and some from the cultists, she clutched the warm cider someone had brought her and silently tried to come up with some kind of plan, some kind of way to wrap it all up neatly and move on, but she was coming up decidedly empty.
With a sigh and a shake of her head, she kicked a rock down the battlements, watched it crumble as it went along it's short journey. For just a moment it felt as if she were entirely alone, not even the spirits in the air there with her.
