The cold had seeped into my bones, and sleep wouldn't come. I lay in my tent, staring at the canvas above me, my breath visible in the faint light of the dying fire outside. The wind howled through the trees, carrying with it the distant cry of some night creature. It was too quiet, too still, and my mind wouldn't settle. I thought of the river, the wagon sinking beneath the water, and the way the forest seemed to close in around us like a living thing. Something felt wrong out here, though I couldn't put my finger on it.
With a sigh, I pushed myself up and stepped out into the night. The air was sharp, biting at my skin, and the camp was bathed in the orange glow of the fire. Shadows danced along the edges of the clearing, flickering like dark spirits. And there, at the far end of the camp, stood Jedediah. He was still as a statue, rifle cradled in his arms, his eyes fixed on the tree line. The old guide hadn't slept much since we'd crossed the river, and tonight was no different. He looked like a man waiting for a storm to break.
I approached him slowly, my boots crunching on the frost-covered ground. "Jed," I whispered, not wanting to startle him. "Everything alright?"
He didn't turn, didn't even blink. His gaze stayed locked on the darkness beyond the camp. "Quiet," he muttered, his voice low and gravelly. "Too quiet."
I glanced at the trees, seeing nothing but shadows and swaying branches. "You think something's out there?"
Jedediah's jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he might answer. But then he shook his head, a small, sharp movement. "Go back to sleep, boy. Ain't nothin' you need to worry about."
But the way he said it—like he was trying to convince himself—sent a shiver down my spine. I opened my mouth to press him, but the look in his eyes stopped me. He was coiled tight, like a spring ready to snap, and I didn't want to be the one to set him off. With a nod, I stepped back, leaving him to his silent vigil.
As I turned toward the fire, I spotted Father Michael sitting alone on a log, his Bible open in his lap. The priest's face was half-lit by the flames, his expression stern but calm. He was a man of faith, unshakable, or so it seemed. I'd always admired that about him, the way he could find strength in words written centuries ago. Maybe he had the answers I was looking for.
I sat down beside him, the warmth of the fire a welcome relief. "Couldn't sleep either, Father?" I asked, rubbing my hands together.
He glanced up, his eyes sharp despite the late hour. "The Lord's work doesn't rest, William. And neither do I, it seems." He closed the Bible, his fingers tracing the worn leather cover. "What troubles you, my son?"
I hesitated, unsure how to put my fears into words. "It's just… everything. The river, the food, the cold. And now Jedediah's acting like we're about to be ambushed. I don't know how to make sense of it."
Father Michael nodded, his gaze drifting to where Jedediah stood. "The wilderness tests us all, William. It strips away the comforts of civilization and leaves us with only our faith and our will. Jedediah knows that better than most. He's seen things out here that would break lesser men."
"But he won't say what's bothering him," I said, frustration creeping into my voice. "It's like he's waiting for something terrible to happen."
"Perhaps he is," the priest replied, his tone measured. "But fear can be a tool of the devil, used to sow doubt and despair. We must trust in the Lord's protection, even in the darkest of places."
I wanted to believe him, but the knot in my stomach wouldn't loosen. "Do you ever doubt, Father? Ever wonder if we're truly safe out here?"
He was quiet for a moment, his eyes reflecting the firelight. "Doubt is a part of faith, William. Even Christ Himself cried out on the cross, 'Why have you forsaken me?' But it is in those moments that we must cling to our belief, for that is when it matters most."
His words were meant to comfort, but they only deepened my unease. I glanced back at Jedediah, who hadn't moved an inch, his silhouette stark against the night. "What if there's something out there, Father? Something… evil?"
The priest's face hardened, and he leaned closer, his voice low. "The wilderness is full of dangers, both natural and unnatural. But remember this: the greatest evil lies not in the shadows of the forest, but in the hearts of men. Guard yourself against that, and the Lord will see you through."
A sudden crack echoed from the trees—a branch snapping underfoot, or something heavier. I jumped, my heart racing, and even Father Michael tensed, his hand tightening on his Bible. We both stared into the darkness, but nothing moved. The silence that followed was thick, oppressive.
"It's nothing," the priest said after a moment, though his voice lacked conviction. "Just the forest settling."
But I wasn't so sure. I could've sworn I saw something—a flicker of movement, a shape darting between the trees. I blinked, and it was gone, leaving only the swaying branches.
Father Michael stood, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Get some rest, William. We have a long road ahead, and you'll need your strength."
I nodded, though I knew sleep wouldn't come. As the priest walked back to his tent, I stayed by the fire, the warmth doing little to chase away the chill that had settled in my bones. The night stretched on, and I couldn't shake the feeling that we were being watched, that something lurked just beyond the light, waiting for its moment.
And as I finally lay down in my tent, the wind carried a faint whisper—a voice, or maybe just the rustling leaves. But it sounded like my name, spoken in a tone that sent ice through my veins.