Sage

The early morning light filters into the lean-to, and even though the cold is relentless, I’m in no rush to leave the warmth of the blankets. Dash stirs beside me, his eyes opening slowly. He smiles, a lazy, content look on his face, and I can’t help but grin back.

“Think we’ve got a few minutes to stay warm?” I ask, pulling the blankets up to my chin.

Dash chuckles. “I’d say we’ve earned it.”

I shift, propping myself up on my elbow, a thought from last night lingering. “Could we go over some more signs? I keep thinking about how useful it’ll be to check in when we’re across camp from each other.”

His brow lifts with interest, and he nods. “Alright. We can add a few more today.”

Dash holds his hand out, showing me the familiar sign for “how are you?” with his hand scooping toward himself.

I mimic the motion, getting a nod of approval.

“Now, ‘good,’ you remember,” he says, pressing his fingers to his lips and moving them down into his open palm.

“Right,” I say, smiling as I mimic it.

“For ‘bad,’” he continues, bringing his fingers to his chin and moving his hand down and away, which I repeat carefully.

“And if you want to say ‘fine,’” he adds, “just bring your hand to your chest and tap your thumb against it a few times, right here.” He demonstrates, and I follow, feeling the sign settle naturally into place.

“So now I can tell you I’m fine even if I’m not,” I tease, practicing the sign a few times until it feels smooth.

He laughs softly. “True, but I’ll know the difference.”

Dash moves on, demonstrating “sad” with a hand trailing down his cheek, like a tear, and then “tired,” letting his hands fall against his chest like he’s out of energy.

I copy each one, feeling more connected with him as we share these silent gestures. “This is going to be perfect,” I say, my smile widening. “Now we can have an entire conversation from across camp, no words needed.”

Dash gives a soft chuckle, a playful glint in his eyes. “Now I just have to keep an eye out for you using ‘help’ in case you’re trying to get out of one of those long talks.”

“Oh, you’ll know when I need it,” I reply with a grin.

The morning passes in a comforting rhythm of small exchanges and shared silences, with a few laughs breaking up the usual weight of things. Once we’re bundled in layers and ready to face the cold, Dash and I head into camp. The frost sparkles over the fields as we walk, our breaths curling in soft clouds around us. I feel lighter than usual, like the morning has wrapped me in a kind of quiet ease I didn’t realize I’d needed.

As we reach the main area of camp, I catch sight of the usual routines unfolding—people chopping wood, fixing up shelters, tending to small cookfires. Despite the roughness of it all, there’s something steady in the rhythm, a beat that holds us together even on the hardest days.

Mara waves as I walk by, and I pause to talk with her for a moment. She shares a quick story about her daughter trying to bake something over the fire last night that didn’t go quite as planned, and I find myself laughing. There’s a sense of lightness in her tone that wasn’t there a few days ago, and it feels like a small victory.

Just then, an idea takes root in my mind. I glance back at Dash, catching his eye. “What if we did something tonight? Like a social gathering? Just a little break from… well, all of this.” I gesture around, encompassing the endless cycle of survival.

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Dash’s brow lifts, a glint of curiosity in his eyes. “You mean a gathering? Like a campfire and stories kind of thing?”

“Exactly,” I say, my voice gaining enthusiasm. “Music, maybe. Dancing, even—something that gives people a reason to let go of the day-to-day for a while. We could all use it.” I look around at the weary faces, the shoulders hunched from constant work. “If we’re going to keep everyone steady, we have to give them something more than just survival. A little stability, some normalcy… maybe a memory they can hang on to.”

Dash considers this, his gaze sweeping over the camp. “You think Branson will go for it?”

“I’ll talk to him,” I say with a nod. “He’s always saying we’re rebuilding something real here, right? So… let’s remind everyone what we’re rebuilding for.”

Dash smiles, a hint of warmth flickering in his eyes. “Alright, then. I’ll make sure there’s space around the fire and spread the word. And if anyone’s got an instrument stashed away, maybe we’ll even get some music.”

“Perfect,” I reply, feeling a spark of anticipation. The camp hasn’t felt this lively in a long time, and I realize how much I’ve missed it.

After finding Branson by the supply tent, I bring up the idea of the gathering. At first, he seems taken aback, his usual serious expression tightening a bit, but I see something soften as I explain. His gaze drifts around camp, taking in the weary faces, the subtle exhaustion that hangs like a mist over everyone here.

“We can’t ignore what’s been going on,” I say gently. “But giving people a chance to unwind, to remember what it’s like to live instead of just survive… I think that’s part of building a community, too.”

Branson nods slowly, a thoughtful look settling over him. “You’re right. People need more than food and shelter; they need hope. I think… I think this could be good for us.” He looks back at me, a flicker of gratitude in his eyes. “Set it up, and I’ll make sure everyone knows.”

I feel a sense of accomplishment settle over me, the idea growing into something real. I head back through camp, catching glimpses of quiet smiles, the anticipation building as the word spreads. By the time the sun begins to set, there’s a new energy in the air, like the camp itself has exhaled a long-held breath.

The evening settles around camp, the air carrying an edge of cold that the fire fights off in bursts. People gather closer to the flames, pulling in chairs or sitting on blankets on the ground. There’s laughter, the occasional cheer as someone picks up the guitar and plays a familiar tune. For once, the lines of worry on everyone’s faces soften into something lighter, warmer.

From across the campfire, I catch sight of Dash weaving through the clusters of people. He nods to a few scouts, probably checking in on his rounds, but there’s a rare ease in his shoulders tonight—a softness I don’t often see in him. He glances up, our eyes meeting across the crowd, and lifts his hand with the sign for How are you?

The motion is small, subtle enough that no one else would notice, but it feels like a secret language just between us, a small way of staying connected amidst the crowd.

I respond with Fine, pairing it with a small smile to let him know I’m okay—truly okay, for once. He nods, his lips curving into a faint smile that’s gone as quickly as it appeared, but it warms me all the same. The comfort of it settles in my chest, a reassurance that I don’t have to carry the evening alone.

Not long after, I feel a gentle nudge at my shoulder. It’s Mara, her cheeks flushed from the fire, her eyes brighter than I’ve seen them in days. “Are you going to dance?” she asks, grinning mischievously.

I laugh, shaking my head. “Dance? Out here?”

“Why not?” she teases, nodding toward a few people swaying to the beat of the guitar, their movements slow and easy. The mood is light, the warmth of the fire making it easy to forget the cold night pressing in. “Come on, just a little sway. I haven’t seen you smile like this in a while.”

Before I can answer, Dash appears at my side, his expression unreadable but his eyes holding that steady warmth. “Seems like everyone’s in on the dancing tonight,” he says, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Oh, so you’re in?” I ask, raising an eyebrow, teasing him back.

He chuckles. “Depends. Is there going to be any of that high school-style slow dancing?” He gives an exaggerated grimace, making me laugh.

“Oh, you mean like the ‘leave room for the Holy Spirit’ kind?” I quip, grinning. “Or were you more of the… you know… hands-on type?” I give a mockingly scandalous look.

He groans, pretending to cringe. “Oh, no. We’re not going there.” But his eyes are warm, the laughter in them making me feel a little more at home, a little more… here.

With that unspoken agreement, he holds out a hand, and I take it, letting him lead me into a slow, simple sway. The warmth of the fire casts a glow over everything, and as we move, I feel a connection that runs deeper than anything words could express. Here, in this quiet rhythm, surrounded by laughter and soft music, it’s like the weight of survival melts away, replaced by something lighter, something closer to joy.

So, naturally, this is when we got news that Reeves would be returning within a few days. Luckily, the news was given quietly to Branson and Dash so as not to spoil the night, but it certainly was a cold splash of water for those of us who knew.