The rigid timber

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The night is cold and the sweatshirt that the guard wear is not enough to keep him warm, neither the fire. He looks back at the tents where his comrades are enjoying the revelries. He hated this, he hated being picked on by the others, just like now. He’s always been guarding the post if there’s a revel, well, in fact, he’s just a newcomer, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t get the right to be part of it. They said to him that this is just part of the ritual, like hazing, but less torturing, his boss does not condone humiliation and tell everyone that they shouldn’t mess with each other.

He heard a whisper he is sure of it. He stands up and turns around, he slowly walks, his weary eyes scanned the area. He saw a shadow behind the tent. He followed it and once again he is spooked because of the cold wind and instinctively looks behind. There is no one, but he saw the shadow move again.

“Who goes there?”