It was a day you had dreaded for what seemed like weeks now— It was your birthday. Your least favorite day of the year. It brought back many childhood memories for your comfort. And it seemed stupid to you anyway.

It was early the sun was barely over the mountaintops—and the camp was just waking up. You hadn't reminded anyone. So you could only pray no one remembered.

"Happy Birthday." Charles was leaning on the edge of your tent. A little wooden bird in his hands. He had most likely carved it. Your throat felt tight and your eyes hot as you tried to stuff down the unexplainable hurt in your body.