The gentle hush of the night wind rustled through the pines. He lay motionless on the uneven ground, pressed into its firm, lumpy surface. His armor had been cast aside—offered no comfort—leaving only plain dark clothes that clung to him.
Two daggers rested within arm's reach at his side. The only other companion was the steady whisper of the breeze and the distant chorus of nocturnal life.
He drew in a deep, purposeful breath, lingering on its warmth. He shifted slightly, seeking relief from the ground's sharp bite—and failed. A low groan escaped him. He'd growled in frustration, rolled again, determined to find a softer spot. Finally, he arched himself forward, pushing up on one arm, stretching out stiff muscles.
"Damnit… what a fucking comfortable way to sleep…" he muttered, voice edged with sarcasm. He rubbed the back of his neck, wincing.
"So much for my break from all the gruesome training with MILFs."
