The Tent

Thunder boomed overhead and the flickering of high lightning was incessant. The patter of rain on the tent was dampened by the ward Rosalyn had conducted, but the humid air still dampened everything. Anya frowned at her plate of fried fish. It smelled delicious, but the dim lamplight made clear that the dampness saturated anything. The army’s camp had welcomed them readily, but they had learned sadly that Argen had gone missing after their last engagement. She lay back on her bedroll comfortably, twining her fingers in the soft wool fringe of her blankets. He could not have gotten far.