Tyler’s POV
Dawn comes thin and gray through the towering pine trees that casts shadows on the forest floor. The camp wakes the way a good team should: quiet, on time, each sound filled with a purpose. A ladle clinks against a metal pot once. Nearby, the rustling of canvas being folded rings while the breath of the fire deepens when Duke feeds it a split of cedar.
I run my checks as I lace my boots: headcount, wind, little things I need to keep track of. Then the last check, that's new; one ear c****d toward the infirmary tent. Two slow pulls, a pause, then another two. Not shallow, not labored, food enough to let the not in my chest loosen by a notch.
Admiration is one thing when it lives as a story. It is another when it drops out of the dark and bleeds blood into your hands.
I heard
