Caleb was confined to his tent, with a guard posted outside to ensure he didn’t disappear again. He spent the day in nothing but a pair of dingy briefs, mending the rent in his pants. But the day had run its course, and night was fast approaching. When the first cramp fisted his stomach an hour after supper, he knew the discomfort had nothing to do with the gruel he’d eaten. The moon was rising, and his blood answered the call.
Slipping on his pants, Caleb buttoned the fly as he leaned out the flap of his tent. The guard assigned to watch him sat on an upturned barrel, head in his hand, dozing. He leaned heavily on his rifle as if it were the only thing holding him up. Caleb hissed to get his attention. “Psst.”
The guard let out a rambling snore. With one bare foot, Caleb kicked the guar
