Setting Off Again

The morning was quiet, almost unnervingly so, as we prepared to leave the cursed village behind. The air was cold and crisp, biting at my skin as I adjusted the straps of my pack. The sky above was a pale, washed-out blue, streaked with the faintest remnants of dawn, yet there was a heavy stillness that seemed to settle over everything. Even the birds, usually lively at this hour, were silent, as if they too could feel the oppressive weight of what we had just endured.