John

We should make sure everything's locked up.

Just one sec.

Haven't you ever heard about the last log on the fire?

To be clear, this isn't my story.

I heard it years ago from a man who claimed it happened to his uncle.

Though he did admit that the details had been passed down so many times that the details had probably been skewed a little.

He said that the exact location didn't matter, that the forest had changed names and boundaries since then, and that the only constant was the fire pit.

The rule was simple.

At that particular clearing, you let the fire burn out on its own.

No one remembered who made the rule or why.

It was simply repeated to anyone who camped there.

Old-timers said the pit had been dug long before the campground existed, back when trappers moved through the woods in winter and built fires that lasted for days.

That the place became a haven for freezing travelers low on supplies.

They said the stones around the ring were older than the marked trails, older than any ranger station, older than the road that now brought campers in by the carload.

You didn't add a final log before bed.

You didn't smother it.

You didn't interfere with whatever the fire decided to do when you were done watching it.

The uncle in the story didn't believe in rules without being given a good reason to follow them.

He was that sort of person.

He was practical and stubborn and liked the comfort of certainty.