Surya could not sleep that night. His went back to the ashen gray shadow that glided by him. It was nothing like the white spirit from his dreams but that did not comfort Surya. Spirits could change form just like water. This would be the worst possible moment to have his affliction return to haunt him.
The inside of the tent was airless and suffocating. Surya left his sleeping mat and walked out into the cool, dark night. The moon was less a thin sickle, and the stars were brightly twinkling in the purple sky blanket. The wind had from earlier had now dropped to an occasional breeze, that rustled the tall grass all around the camp. The camp fire had also dwindled down to a little ember, occasionally carried away by the gusts of the breeze. Surya walked up to the fire, and sat by it, watching it slowly die.
