Elian's watch passed in a blur of exhaustion and hyper-vigilance. Every rustle of leaves was a drone, every gurgle of the river the whine of a skimmer's engine. The image of the fallen Giant played behind his eyes, over and over, intercut with the cold, dead gaze of the Compact scout's mechanical eye. He felt stretched thin, a resonance string tuned too tight, humming with a fear that threatened to shatter his focus.
When Mara's hand touched his shoulder to relieve him, he started violently.
"Anything?" she asked, her voice a low murmur. Her eyes, sharp even in the pre-dawn gloom, scanned the tree line.
"Just the river. And my imagination," he admitted, the words tasting of shame. A Guardian of the Wellspring should be steadier.
"Your imagination is our best defense right now," she said, settling into his spot. "Get some sleep. We move at first light."
