You had always been prone to night terrors. Usually, Cain was there to help—but Cain was just a dog.

When it gets extreme you turn to Dutch.

Tonight is one of those nights, you wake with cold sweat dampening your brow, heart pounding as you get to your feet. You slink to his tent; a safe haven.

With hesitancy you poke your head in, seeing Dutch asleep, an open book rested on his chest. He’d fallen asleep reading Evelyn Miller, the sight reassuring.