Spirits RememberedAuthorHouse, 2005 M03 14 - 472 páginas Tim stood and used his hat to slap raindrops from his clothes as he looked about the massive encampment. The rain had stopped but a slight mist filled the air. Everything was wet and puddles formed randomly across the area. There were tents as far as he could see through the trees and across the fields where others that couldn’t sleep were coaxing campfires to life, spitting and spluttering on wet kindling. A glance at his watch told him it is was nearly five A.M. Well, I got more sleep than some nights. Maybe that means this will be a good day. He busied himself starting a fire, then fetched water from the creek for coffee. As the water began to boil and dawn paled the sky east of the creek he heard the first sounds of thunder. Grady moaned from beneath the hat that covered his face from the elements, “It’s not going rain again today is it?” Tim knew that Grady didn’t really care if it rained or not, the question was his way of beginning the day, but before he could answer, they heard another echoing boom and saw a flash of light, then another, and another. “What tha’?” mumbled Grady. He jumped to his feet, shook raindrops from his clothes, and looked to the south as another report sounded and a campfire fifty yards away burst into a mushroom of sparks, ashes, and mud. A coffee pot spun twenty feet into the air. “Tim, that’s not thunder, its artillery fire! We’re under attack!” |