Virgin light gently caresses my cheek, warming me with its touch as the first rays of the sun peek over the horizon and sneak into my window.  With a yawn, I stretch my arms toward the ceiling, careful to avoid blocking the path of that precious light.  For a moment – just one moment – I allow myself to cherish the beauty of nature before duty once again seizes my time.

            Far too quickly, my fleeting peace is taken.  There’s no pounding on my door – no emergency to solve – but my conscience refuses to allow me any modicum of relaxation which isn’t granted to the others.  As the sun rises, so must we.  I cannot allow myself to be seen as the exception.

            Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I pull myself from the embrace of light.  Rising slowly, I’m careful to give my body time to adjust to the new demands placed on it.  I would have thought time would have worked the weariness from my muscles, but I still occasionally find myself sore in the mornings.

            With a groan, I walk toward the mirror.  No matter how hard I trained in the past, I couldn’t come close to these results.  My body has shed nearly all of the fat I had been storing, and every lean muscle is visible.  Working every day has its benefits – but I can’t say I wouldn’t trade them for the comforts I’d always taken for granted.

            I meet the eyes of my reflection, giving myself a silent smile.  My hair, which I haven’t bothered to cut since the war, falls wildly over my face.  The split ends and frayed segments are yet another reminder of what once was – but is no longer – important to me.  I push my bangs to the side to clear my vision before sliding a long-sleeved shirt over my head.

            I rub my hand over the short beard growing from my face and chuckle to myself.  Perhaps I don’t have an excuse to look so disheveled.  I know there are plenty of people willing and able to operate a pair of scissors – and I myself know my way around a razor.  In fact, a Runner - the name I still use for people with super speed despite the dissolution of the Council – could cut my hair in mere seconds.

            I like my new look, though.  The unkempt beard and shaggy hair are like a mask for me.  I used to be kept up so well – a golden child.  Out here, though, I’m no different than anyone else.  Whoever I was inside the walls is dead, and I have learned to accept that.

            Running my hand through my hair and pushing it back, I turn from the mirror and quickly navigate to the door.  As I step outside, I’m once again reminded to count my blessings.  Something about the darkness of morning tends to awaken a self-pitying side of me.  I can’t help harbor the tragedy of what I’ve lost – but in a sense I’ve gained a new life.

            A smile creeps its way across my face as I see Hashim wave from down the street.  He picks up the pace, jogging to meet me on my doorstep.  As he does, he tries to wrap his arm around my neck playfully, but a surge of panic fills me.  Before I can think, my body reacts.  I duck under his arm and slide behind him.  Managing to stop myself from locking his arm behind his back, I sigh and take a step back.

            “Still jumpy, aren’t you?”  He laughed.

            “It comes in waves,” I shrug.

            “We haven’t had problems in months,” Hashim comforts, turning to face me and gently placing a hand on my shoulder.  I know he’s right.

            “Why do you have to say things like that?” I groan.  I’m not superstitious, but his ability to sense the turning of the tide is uncanny.  I’d almost believe it was his power if I didn’t know the rarity of external powers.

            “True things?”  Hashim asks, turning and walking down the street.  Making our way the fields, we try to keep up the small talk, but there are too many distractions.  Everyone in town knows each other, and everyone feels the need to greet one another.

            The stone walkway beneath my feet is louder than the sidewalks back in Sanctuary, but I’ve grown accustomed to that difference.  Sprawling shadows are essentially absent, and the whole town is bathed in the light of the rising sun.  We pass a few more homes and navigate toward the outskirts, waving to everyone we pass.

            As Hashim and I reach the fields, we start to examine the crops.  Any day, they should be ready to harvest.  Since nothing grows at exactly the same rate, there are definitely a few which need to be removed already.

            Sorting through mature and immature stalks of maize isn’t exactly where I thought I’d ever found purpose.  Going to the Drone School – and becoming a farmer – had almost been a punishment in the past.  I can’t pretend I don’t understand that.  Not many people would sign up for the strenuous labor involved.  However, now that I’ve had the chance to try, this lifestyle has grown on me.

            I used to think my best trait was fighting, but that was taken from me when I learned the hard way that there will always be someone stronger.  Eventually, no level of skill could close that power gap for me, but I’m okay with that.  I don’t have to be a warrior – and I don’t have to the best.

            “What do you think of this one?”  Hashim asked, cocking his head and eyeing a nearly-ripe vegetable.

            “If you’re not sure, it’s probably safe to leave it,” I assure him.  Nodding, he turns his back and starts on another row.

            One thing we aren’t lacking Outside is space.  The rolling hills have provided ample area for us to plant and maintain various crops around our town.  Each field has a small team associated with it, and those who don’t tend the fields have various other jobs.  Whether they’re caring for the animals, washing laundry, preparing meals, keeping the town clean, or offering their watchful eyes, everyone is participating.  They’re doing so, however, without classes or titles.  Of course, a system like this is only able to be maintained for small groups like ours.

            The Council assigned us classes for a reason, and it kept order for generations.  I can’t help but wish I’d been to express that point to Carson.  Dropping focus from my duties, I fall into another spiral of self-blame.  Quickly, I snap out of it.  I don’t know how long I’ll have to combat these doubts – but even if it’s the rest of my life, I can’t allow them to affect my productivity.

            Soft footsteps shake the ground behind me.  Welcoming the distraction, I turn and tuck my hands into my pockets as I wait for the source of the noise to draw near enough to be comfortable to talk.  Stephanie, a bubbly blonde, quickly closes the gap.  I remember the days when she was nothing more than a chubby child, but our new lifestyle has treated her the same as it has me.

            “Hey Steph,” I greet as she approaches.  She waves, still walking closer.  Though she’s clearly capable of hearing and speaking from this distance, she feels the need to draw especially near.  I’m not concerned, though, as I’ve begun adapting everyone’s unique personality traits.  I’m sure I have plenty of quirks they’d all love to point out.  Hers just happen to be intentionally slow movement and close talking.

            “Sir, one of the sheep wandered off.  I’ve been running in circles looking, but I can’t find him.  I was thinking you may be able to catch a scent.”

            “I’ve told you a hundred times, stop calling me sir,” I sigh.  She’s only a few years younger than me, but she does it more out of respect than acknowledging an age gap.  Since I know she means well, I try not to get offended, but I also don’t want to give the wrong impression to the people.  I’m not their leader.

            “And I’ve told you exactly as many times that I have no intention of doing that,” She chirps, tapping my nose with her fingertip.

            “I’m not a leader,” I wave dismissively, reiterating the point.  There was a time in my life where I believed I was.  I thought I had what it took to lead the Council, by Dante’s side, into a new era.  That time, though, ended in disaster, and I’m not ready to experience that again.  I don’t know that I ever will be.

            As an afterthought, I realize her other implication.  Slightly more wounded, I add, “And I’m not a dog.”

            “You’re the closest thing we’ve got, sir,” Stephanie smirks.

            “To which?”

            “Both,” she chuckles.  Glancing over my shoulder, I see Hashim carefully pruning crops.

            “Hey Hash, do you think you can handle this for a minute?”

            “Hash is not short for Hashim in it’s original language,” is the only response he offers.

            “Well, if you didn’t want me to give you a nickname, you shouldn’t have been named something with an ‘H’ in the middle,” I tease.  “That’s nickname bait.”

            “Yeah, yeah.  Go get the sheep, I can handle this.”

            “I won’t be long,” I assure him.  Nodding to Stephanie, I motion for her to lead the way.  I don’t know if it’s a fear of leaving me behind that slows her pace to a crawl, but I place a hand on her back and gently pull her along as I walk.

            Finally, she catches my point and speeds up a bit.  As a Runner, she does a great job slowing herself down to the level of the rest of us.  I’ve seen others who had difficulty with that aspect.  However, she often overcompensates.

            Long before we reach the last known grazing spot of the sheep, I’m assaulted by an unpleasant smell.  I don’t want to give her the satisfaction of acknowledging that I am indeed the closest we have to a dog to track her livestock, but I can’t hide the fact that I recognize the scent right away.

            “Wait, Steph,” I tell her, placing my hand in front of her and freezing in place.  She runs into my arm but stops as well.  Closing my eyes, I listen for anything out of the ordinary.  The bleating of sheep and distant conversations of ranchers are clear, but I can’t sense anything threatening. 

“Go back to town and get a guard to meet me here,” I whisper authoritatively.  With nothing more than a nod, she disappears, running at full speed into town.  Slowly, I inch forward and squat down.  A drop of blood paints a single blade of grass red.  The trail thickens, though, as I look further from town.  This isn’t a brutal attack like that of an animal.  Someone had stabbed the sheep.  Judging from the amount of blood, the wound hadn’t been fatal.  Instead, it was more of an isolating attack – meant to direct the sheep further from the herd.  A predator with this level of consideration – while not impossible in the animal kingdom – has yet to present itself.

All of my instincts are clashing in my mind.  Part of my psyche is thoroughly convinced I’m the most capable person for this task and that waiting will only put someone else in danger.  However, every time I try to act on my own, all I think of is the roof of the Council building collapsing.  I see Carson’s desperate face and know I couldn’t stop him.  I know I barely escaped with my life.  On paper, I may be the most capable for any given job, but I have proven to myself that I am unable to live up to that expectation.  Going on my own would only result in the building falling down on me – and maybe this time I won’t be able to dodge quickly enough.

Paralyzed by indecision, I stare at the trail of blood and feel my heart start pounding in my chest.  My breath catches in my lungs and my mind spirals.  It’s not just my life, but everyone else’s.  I can’t be that hero, and they can’t look up to me.  So many people made that mistake and paid dearly.  I’m going to fail.  Why am I the one they ask?

Suddenly, I feel a hand slam down on my shoulder.  Frantically, I grab the wrist and twist it, locking the assailant’s wrist.  From his wrist – in nothing more than a blur of lingering training – I’m able to gain control of his elbow, shoulder, and then his whole body.  I toss him to the ground and press my foot down on his chest.

When the blur of paranoia and panic clears, I recognize Marcel.  Stephanie, with her hands above her head, has retreated a few dozen feet.  Steadying my breathing, I release Marcel’s wrist and step off his chest.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter.

“I shouldn’t have snuck up on you,” he counters.  “I just didn’t know it was possible to surprise you.”

“I’m a bit on edge,” I admit, extending a hand.  Marcel accepts my offer and I pull him to his feet.

            “What’s going on?”

            “The sheep didn’t wander off,” I explain, pointing toward the trail.  Marcel silently follows it with his eyes before dropping them to the ground with a heavy sigh.

            “What’s your command?”  He asks.  Marcel is a soldier – and he always has been.  Though he’s a few years older than me, the PeaceKeepers taught him to always follow the orders of the commanding officer.  For some reason, he’s given me that role.

            Shaking, I stare at the ground.  This isn’t right.  The Beasts were one thing, but this was a coordinated attack.  I can’t lead them through this – I don’t know why they are so convinced I can.

            When I look up, though, I see both of them staring at me expectantly.  Somehow, their confidence in me restores a small part of my own.  I’m not convinced I should lead this charge, or this settlement, but I know I can give Marcel strength.  If he needs me to give him orders, I can fight back my own feelings and lead him.  Together, we can investigate the source, then we can find the proper person to deal with it.

            “Stick close to me,” I reply, burying my doubt so deeply within myself that even I’m almost convinced.  “We’re going to follow the trail and see if we can find who attacked the sheep.  It may just be someone desperately hunting for food.  There’s no reason to panic yet.”

            “Yes, sir!”  Marcel nods.

            “Stephanie, keep your distance, but stay close enough to see us.  If things start to go south, I want you to race back here and gather the guards.  Tell them to split into offensive and defensive positions – they’ll understand you,” I continue.

            “Yes, sir!”  she echoes Marcel.

            The three of us start following the trail of blood as it starts to paint more grass crimson.  Eventually, we reach a point where the pattern of the blood is no longer like paint splattering the grass, but rather a brush being pulled across the Earth.  Someone had started dragging it.

            Formulating a plan, I slow to a stop and try to scan the area.  Marcel doesn’t notice, so he continues walking.  I catch him by the arm and hold a finger over my lips.  If the hunter dragged his prey from here, I’m assuming he’s close.  Therefore, following the trail directly may not be the best way to handle this.  It will lead us directly to the attacker, but we may be outmatched.  Even with my eyesight and Marcel’s, we have a limited view in this terrain.

            The blood seems to curve around a nearby hill, so I crouch down and lead Marcel to the top of that hill.  Quietly, we continue walking and scanning the area for any movement.  Using all of my senses, I search for any sign of hostility.  When we reach the top of the hill, though, I freeze.

            “Do you see that?”  I ask Marcel.  Due to my years of training directly with the Council and the fact that his power only advances one sense, I know my powers are far more advanced than his.  Therefore, I don’t have a frame of reference for what he can see, exactly.  However, with our elevation, I have no doubt even a powerless person could see that settlement.

            It’s nothing like ours, of course.  We’ve built houses and fields – buildings of stone and brick.  What I’m looking at is little more than a campsite.  However, it’s a large campsite – with over a dozen tents surrounding a campfire.  They have the advantage of being mobile.

            Marcel’s eyes widen and he slowly nods, confirming what I’m seeing.  Squatting down, he drops his hands on the ground.

            “We’re not alone out here,” he sighs.

            “It would appear not.”

            “Do you think they’re friendly?”

            “Hope for the best,” I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant.  As I stare at that camp, I start picturing another war.  I see nameless and faceless people raiding my new home and burning it to the ground.  I see myself wandering through the rubble of another village, barely escaping with my life after coming to in a destroyed world.  My voice catches in my throat, but I maintain my composure.  I can’t let Marcel see how afraid I am.

            “Assume the worst,” he finishes my thought.  Gratefully, I sigh.  I don’t have to speak anymore.  We have the information.  I can take this back to the others and we can vote on our next course of action.  Unfortunately, I know I’m going to have to find some way to express that plan to Marcel when he asks, “Well, what’s next, Lance?”