Call of the Night
Mark lingered by the low-burning campfire, staring into the flickering embers as the quiet enveloped the group.
Natalia had fed the Clipkon their remaining rations, and now it lay curled beside the fire, its massive frame gently rising and falling with each breath.
Zac was sprawled out, snoring lightly, while Natalia muttered something in her sleep, her arms tucked tightly into her blanket.
Toze, having finally settled down after hours of nonsensical chatter, slept curled up in a tight ball.
As for Mark, he couldn't rest.
He could feel the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him, a gnawing discomfort that wouldn't let him sink into sleep.
Every part of this journey felt wrong—the uncertainty, the constant danger, the suffocating weight of what lay ahead.
It was his own doing, and he took solace in the fact he dared to attempt such a crazy journey, despite the deepest parts of his character rejecting the idea.