The sounds of the camp were settling down for the night—the distant clang of armor, the murmur of tired soldiers, the crackle of fires. The last of the day's frantic activity had ended, leaving behind the cool, quiet embrace of the evening.
Derek walked back from the nearby stream, his boots crunching softly on the gravel path. He had just finished bathing in the cold, rushing water, scrubbing away the sweat and dust of a day spent shouting orders and reviewing maps. A rough linen towel was slung over his broad shoulder. His dark hair was wet, plastered to his forehead and dripping water down his back. His trousers were slightly damp where they clung to his wet skin, and his chest was bare, the muscles defined in the moonlight, glistening with leftover droplets.
