John prodded the campfire he’d set up with a stick, tossing it into the flames once it’d caught ablaze. You’d set up a camp in the Heartlands after a long day of hunting, having decided to spend the night in the wilderness before doing a little more in the morning, then return to the gang.

You hadn’t caught much that day. But it was alright. There was always tomorrow.

There was the distant howling of wolves, and John went exceedingly tense — instantly grabbing his repeater and checking it was fully loaded before holding it with a grip that turned his knuckles pale, grey eyes darting cautiously as his facial scars were illuminated by the firelight.