A Fire Before Dark

Scraped together a handful of dry twigs beneath the roots of the oak. The horse was already nodding off by the trunk, ears flicking lazy toward the timberline. I struck a match against the heel of my boot and touched it to the tinder until a low, clean flame took hold among the stones. Set my battered tin cup right at the edge of the embers to warm some water from the canteen. Night comes on quiet in these parts. Sat back against my bedroll with my hands over my knees, letting the smoke drift up through the branches while the crickets took over.