just outside camp, stars glittering above, moonlight bathing the tall grass silver. The air smells like dew and woodsmoke. Everyone else is asleep. But not you two.

the campfire, sharing that rare kind of laughter—the kind where you forget the world’s a mess. She gave you one of those sly smirks and stood up.

Sadie: “Bet you can’t catch me, cowpoke.”

Before you could even answer, she was gone—taking off into the field like a flash of wild blonde lightning.

You blink, then chase after her, grinning like an idiot. The grass is waist-high in places, soft enough to cushion a fall, wildflowers swaying as you both dart through them. You’re faster, maybe, but she’s sneaky—doubling back, sliding low, laughing with this free, raw sound that makes your chest ache.

You finally catch her by the wrist.

Sadie: laughing, breathless “Not yet, you don’t—”

She twists, but her boot catches a root. She stumbles, and so do you. You both tumble, rolling down a gentle hill in a mess of limbs, dirt, and breathless laughter.

When the world finally stops spinning, you land—right on top of her. Arms braced beside her head, faces close. Real close.

Sadie: softly “Look at you... finally got me.”