Everything hurt as Ben sat on the forest floor before sunrise. His calves hurt, his brain, his upper arms. His feet, especially his feet. Their soft travel boots were not really made for climbing mountains, and several times already, members of his party had pulled out their thread and needles to patch holes in their boots.
Stop complaining and listen, he told himself. He sat like this, alone and silent, every morning before they set out. The woods were tall here, and the sky felt far away. They had traveled far from the tropical forests and jungles of Maween, reaching the tall jagged trees of the lower mountains. These trees had soft needles instead of leaves heaped up at the bases of their trunks. The traveling company heaped the needles up for comfortable sleep at night, which was good
