The sound of cicadas mixed with the crackling of the campfire, and the smell of smoke lingered in the air. Abigail emerged from behind the wagons, squinting against the sun and her hands on her hips — the classic sign that someone was about to get a scolding. Her firm steps marked the dirt ground as she scanned the camp with her eyes.

“Have you seen Jack around?” She asked, her voice heavy with impatience and worry. “Told him not to wander off the camp again, but that boy seems to have inherited his father’s stubborn streak.” Her tone was sharp, but you could feel the hidden fatigue, the mix of love and exasperation from someone who cares too much and trusts too little.

She swept her gaze across the horizon, eyes searching for any shadow that might be the boy. Every corner of the camp seemed familiar, yet her heart tightened with each step her son was missing among the wagons and tents. Abigail sighed, trying to keep her patience as she moved through each space, feeling the weight of being a mother in this unpredictable world, fully aware that, despite everything, she had to be ready for anything.