Jason

We made a small fire out of dead juniper twigs, more for the psychological comfort than any warmth.

We actually ate a hot meal.

Someone cracked a joke that made us all laugh too loud.

The world felt less sharp, like we'd stepped a few inches away from the edge of something.

We went to bed early, the kind of early that comes from bone-level exhaustion.

I fell asleep almost immediately, my body finally overriding my brain screaming.

I woke up to the sound of someone walking around the tent.

At that point, it was almost familiar.

The crunch of sand.

The soft brush of something against nylon.

My heart slammed into wakefulness, like it was trying to punch its way out of my chest.

Then I heard my own voice humming.

Just outside the tent, less than a foot from my ear, someone was humming a song.

Three notes.

Over and over.

The same little tuneless tune I always hummed mindlessly when I was anxious or bored.

I didn't even realize I had a thing like that until I heard it coming from somewhere that wasn't my own throat.

The humming shifted into words.

Soft at first.

Nonsense syllables.