Autumn's come early this year. It's early September, and a brisk breeze every few minutes keeps me from sleeping.
I adjust my tent, and pull a dirty blanket tighter around myself. Somewhere in the distance my horse grunts to itself. The breeze comes again and I pick up and put myself a little closer to the fire. It's only embers at that point, but warmer still.
Beecher's Hope isn't far, and I could go there and sleep by the fireplace if it suited me, but it didn't. My toes curled and uncurled in my shoes, which I kept on my feet to sleep when I was in the wild. I thought about going into town, in Blackwater, and sleeping at the hotel there.
My eyes burned with exhaustion and I wondered if it would be worth it to pick up once again and ride all the way there, but another breeze hit me and I thought it would be best if I got it over with.
My horse didn't much like being bothered in the middle of the night, but didn't fight me too much when I started it at a trot towards the town. My back ached from sleeping on the ground for the past week, and my scalp itched. It had been a while since I'd had a bath, or shaved, or even washed my clothes.
When I finally got into Blackwater I considered, briefly, stopping for a drink. The bartender often stayed late, and he was there, but I thought against it. I didn't want my head to hurt waking up the next day, and I wanted to get a good night's sleep for once.
I went up to the room my father had rented so long ago, lit the fireplace, pulled off the majority of my clothes and crawled into bed.
I woke sometime in the afternoon. The sun was failing to shine through the thick curtains of the room, and I was glad for it. I heard the ruckus downstairs in the bar, and even fainter the town in full swing.
Something inside of me told me not to leave the room, so I didn't. I went through my pack and found some dried meat, and after I ate it I went back to sleep. I had nothing better to do.