He slept again; when he opened his eyes, the sunlight had shifted and he now huddled alone under a worsted blanket. Stretching awake, he turned to find Brance sitting nude on a dead stump not far away. The man looked coarse in the morning light, his hair disheveled, his beard a tangle of thick, russet curls. A haversack rested beside him, open—Caleb saw blue dungarees folded inside, and the familiar cans that contained army rations. In one hand, Brance held a dented coffee tin; in the other, a large cracker that he nibbled. When he noticed Caleb was awake, he grunted in greeting.
Scooting closer to the man, Caleb kept the blanket around his legs, not yet willing to lose the warmth trapped beneath it. Brance watched him, his light eyes unreadable. When he was close enough, Caleb reached ou
