First Breath in the Folds

Stiffness gives way. Slowly, I test the articulation in my wrist gauntlet. It flexes. Beneath me, the fabric is pale, creased like miniature dunes. Across the folds lie other figures, silent and unmoving. I keep low, measuring the distance. My armored fingers press into a ridge of the sheet, steadying my weight as I raise my helmeted head just enough to scan the terrain. Nothing stirs. Good. A quiet post is a safe post.