Trees surrounded him, those to the west taller as the land rolled itself into the foothills of the Appalachians. The sun was already out of sight behind the dense leaves, a few rays of lingering light flashing through the canopy when the wind turned, but the moon had not yet risen so Brance ignored the pain that flared in his midsection. He concentrated on the sounds around him, the birdsong that serenaded the setting sun, the rush of water over rocks, the small yawn from the tent pitched a few yards behind his back. In less than an hour, those sounds would deepen, one minor part in a symphony that would come alive to him in the night. Another tremor twisted his stomach. Not long now.
He heard his name called out behind him. “Brance?”
The sleepy voice yawned again, louder this time, then
