John stretched his back and groaned under his breath. Two days of sitting on a crate as he watched over McKay had given him a new appreciation for the importance of proper chairs.
Next time you plan an extended mission, make sure you pack a camp chair, he told himself. He shifted on the crate, trying to find a more comfortable position as he glanced around the tent.
Teyla stood near the tent's center pole with her eyes closed, moving through the slow steps of an Athosian meditative form. Ronon sat on another crate propped on its end in front of the table, sharpening an impressive array of knives.
McKay shifted under the blanket and muttered under his breath.
John rested his hand on Rodney's shoulder and waited. A few seconds later, McKay settled, and John sat back on the crate.
Rodney had been stable for the last day. The fever wasn't any higher but hadn't dropped either, and the rash was still an angry red speckled with white blisters.
Of course, you had the ibuprofen to help, John grumbled to himself. Now that it's gone, what's going to happen? John absently rubbed the back of his head and frowned. So much for hoping to get him back to Beckett quickly.
He sat forward with his elbows braced on his knees, but that didn't relieve the ache in his back. John gave up on the crate, stood, and paced the small area from the end of Rodney's sleeping bag to the front of the tent, hoping the movement would work out some of the kinks.
The storm, while never as severe as the blizzard on Lurra, had still been bad enough. John estimated at least eighteen inches of snow had accumulated in their clearing over the last two days.
He had heard several loud cracks followed by a low thump from the trees behind the tent overnight. Every time he heard a crack, John held his breath, waiting to see if anything hit the tent. So far, they'd been lucky. Most of the downed trees and branches had fallen deeper into the forest. The wind had downed a tree at the edge of their campsite the first night of the storm, but it had missed both the tent and the ship.
John heard the pine boughs shake as another gust of wind rattled Ronon's windbreak. He glanced behind him when McKay mumbled something and pushed the blanket off again.
Was it the noise from the wind or fever dreams? John wondered. He'd suffered through more than one windstorm in a tent and was silently grateful that Ronon's windbreak protected the tent from the worst of the wind and snow, allowing them to weather the storm with a modicum of comfort.
Something that would not have been possible if they'd been forced back into the ship, John reminded himself as the wind shook the wall of pine branches.
Dex looked up from sharpening a short blade, twisted around on the crate, and said, "What?"
Teyla opened her eyes and glanced from Ronon to John.
"Nothing," John said, waving off the question. "Just thinking."
Ronon grunted and turned back to the table.
Rodney muttered something about particles and conversion rates and rolled onto his side with a low moan.
John turned in his short back-and-forth path and knelt at Rodney's side. He pressed his palm to Rodney's forehead and noted the fever seemed much the same. Is that a good thing or not? he wondered as he adjusted the blanket. How much longer was the fever going to last?
John had done his best to keep Rodney hydrated the past two days, but it was getting harder to wake him and then keep him awake long enough to get him to take more than a few swallows of the drink powder mixed with water. They were out of ibuprofen and almost out of the salve Teyla had made for the rash, and John wondered how long it would be before the hypoglycaemia added to their growing list of problems.
How much much more could McKay take without real medical intervention? John asked himself.
John sat on the crate, scrubbed a hand over his bristly chin, and ignored the persistent, dull headache and the itch at the back of his skull. Another indicator Rodney wasn't getting better, he thought with a frustrated sigh.
The reaction from the link had done more than keep John apprised of McKay's condition. It was a constant reminder that their shared bond had only strengthened over the last several months.
"I don't know what he's feeling or thinking, and I don't want to know. It would be a breach of trust."
John ducked his head as the comment he'd made to Teyla more than a year ago on Eidolon rose in his mind. Of course, that was before Rodney's little bombshell, John groused to himself.
What were they going to do now? John wondered. While the incident with the Wraith nearly killing him had been an extreme circumstance, would there come a time when he would know what Rodney was thinking as he worked on a mundane problem in the lab? When Rodney would know what he was thinking while he sat in his quarters playing his guitar?
If Rodney's coping mechanism was an acerbic attitude, John's was keeping his innermost thoughts and feelings buried. Now, thanks to the link, John realised, that may not be possible for much longer—at least not with McKay.
He hadn't mentioned the other change in their bond. It had been a subtle difference, and one he wasn't even sure was new until recently, but he had had his suspicions even before Rodney's revelation that the link was evolving and the decisions they had made a year ago might need revising.
Another loud crack followed by a thump sounded from the forest, breaking John out of his spiralling thoughts.
Rodney moaned, and John looked down as McKay rolled onto his back and pushed aside the blanket.
"It's just the wind," John said to Rodney.
He leant forward and picked up one of the MRE bags sealed with duct tape. Ronon had suggested using the bags filled with snow as makeshift ice packs. The bags worked well enough, but between Rodney's fever and the stuffy warmth inside the tent, the snow lasted less than an hour before it melted.
John gently shook the bag, heard water sloshing inside, and stood.
"Going to make a snow run," John said, reaching for his coat.
Ronon set the knife he'd been sharpening on the table and stood.
"I'll go," Dex said, and John hid a tiny smile.
He knew Ronon was not the type to sit and do nothing. When Dex suggested his makeshift ice pack idea, John wondered if Ronon had meant it as an excuse to get outside for a few minutes as much as it was to help McKay.
"What now?" Ronon demanded as he pulled on the leather duster.
"Nothing," John replied. He picked up the shallow basin sitting on the end of the table and handed it to Ronon. "Don't go too far," he added as Dex took the bowl and unzipped the tent flap.
Ronon grunted and pushed through the opening.
A blast of cold air blew through the tent as Ronon stepped outside, and John quickly zipped the flap closed.
Rodney groaned, and John frowned when he glanced at McKay and saw he was shivering. He walked back to Rodney's side and pulled up the blanket.
"Colonel?" Teyla asked as she crossed the tent and knelt at Rodney's side. "How is he?"
"He's not any worse," John replied, trying to conceal his worry.
Teyla gave him a sympathetic glance. "But he is no better, either."
"No," John replied.
"He is in the worst phase of the illness," Teyla said. "It is important that we do not let the fever go any higher." She glanced at him and added, "How do you feel?"
John waved off the concern. "I'm fine. No fever. No rash. I guess I'm just naturally immune."
"That is good," she replied.
Teyla peeked under the gauze wrapped around McKay's chest and sat back on her heels. "There is some good news. I think the rash may be starting to scab."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning, once all the blisters have dried, the fever will likely break soon after."
"How long?"
"It is difficult to say. In children, the scabs form in a day or two, and the fever breaks a few hours later."
John could tell Teyla was holding back something.
"And for adults?"
Teyla sighed. "It takes longer for the scabs to form. At least two days, sometimes three."
"And the fever?"
"Another day or two after the rash crusts."
John glanced at the crates of emergency supplies tucked under the table, did some mental math, and frowned. Almost a week, he thought. And that's just to get him past the worst of the sickness. How long would it be before McKay was well enough to fix the ship?
He remembered Ronon's strange looks over breakfast three days ago and pursed his lips into a thin line. McKay wouldn't be in any shape to work on the ship any time soon, he realised. Which meant they had a supply problem.
"Colonel Sheppard?"
John turned to Teyla. "It could be at least another five days for this to run its course?"
Teyla nodded.
"And who knows how long before he can work on the ship." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the supply crates. "This was supposed to be a short-duration mission. We're only supplied for a week plus an extra few days in case of emergencies."
"Food and water should not be a problem," Teyla replied. "I am sure the forest will provide enough to eat, and there is the lake for water."
John grunted and glanced at Rodney. Food wasn't what he was worried about.
Another bitter gust of wind blew through the tent a few moments later, announcing Ronon's return.
"Here," Ronon said, holding out the basin full of slushy snow.
Teyla stood and took the bowl from Dex.
John handed Ronon the makeshift ice packs. Ronon disappeared outside briefly, then returned with the empty bags.
"Stopped snowing," Ronon reported as he handed the bags to Teyla. "Wind is dying down, too. Looks like the storm's clearing."
Teyla filled the bags with fresh snow using a serving spoon from the camping gear.
"Good," John replied. "One less thing to worry about."
Ronon crossed his arms over his chest and stared at John.
"What?" John asked, taking the refilled and sealed bags from Teyla.
"You know what needs to happen."
John glanced at Dex with a raised eyebrow.
"Someone needs to walk to the 'gate and get help," Ronon said.
John placed the ice packs along Rodney's sides and adjusted the blanket.
Ronon had a point, John told himself. You said yourself the supplies weren't going to last much longer. The problem was figuring out who should go and who should stay with Rodney. Teyla had the most experience dealing with the quelen fever. If Rodney took a turn for the worse, John knew her expertise would be necessary to keep McKay alive.
But if he went with Ronon back to the 'gate, that meant leaving Teyla alone with a sick McKay. If something were to happen while he and Dex were gone, she'd have no backup. If he stayed with Teyla and Rodney, Ronon would be on his own to get back to the 'gate through unknown territory.
John rested his hand on Rodney's forehead and grimaced when he felt the fever-heat.
They couldn't keep waiting, John reminded himself. He needs Beckett. Now.
He stared at the side of the tent for a few more moments, then blew out a breath, tweaked the blanket and stood. "All right, we'll wait until tomorrow morning. That will give the sun a day to melt off some of the snow and maybe make the trek down the mountain a little less dangerous. Teyla, you'll stay here with Rodney. You're the best one to deal with anything that happens with the fever while we're gone."
Teyla nodded.
"Ronon and I will head for the 'gate. We'll explain things to Elizabeth, and I'll come back here in another jumper with Beckett and pick up the pair of you."
"I can move faster on my own," Ronon countered with a significant glance at Rodney.
John caught the unspoken message but shook his head. "If something happens to you trying to climb down a mountain by yourself, McKay won't be the only one in trouble."
Ronon grunted but didn't press the issue.
John waited a moment and said, "Since it sounds like the storm is almost over, let's see about clearing a spot for a fire. I think we can all use a hot meal."
By late morning, Rodney lay under the blanket, burning up one moment and shivering the next while mumbling incoherently.
Teyla pressed her hand to Rodney's forehead, then glanced at John.
"He's getting worse, isn't he?" John asked as he rubbed the back of his head.
"I am afraid so," Teyla replied. "I did not see any plants in the forest that would help with the fever."
Ronon grunted, sheathed the last knife on the table, and picked up Rodney's backpack. He pulled McKay's computer, tools, and some spare clothing out of the pack, then filled it with a blanket and a couple of MREs from the crate under the table. He slung a coil of rope over his shoulder bandolier-style, clipped his canteen to his belt, and zipped closed the backpack.
"What do you think you're doing?" John demanded.
Ronon picked up the backpack and walked over to the front of the tent. "Leaving."
John shook his head and stood. "Even if I had agreed to let you go alone, what happened to waiting until tomorrow?"
Rodney muttered something John didn't catch, and Ronon stared at him with an impatient expression.
"Can't keep waiting," he said. He stepped around John and unzipped the tent. "I should be back in a few days."
John glanced at McKay, and a corner of his mind knew Ronon was right. They couldn't wait. Rodney needed Beckett sooner rather than later. He followed Ronon out of the tent, shivered in the cold air, and wrapped his arms around his chest.
"I should come with you."
Ronon shook his head. "McKay needs you more than I do."
John blew out a breath. "Fine. Just be careful," he admonished. "And report in every hour."
Ronon nodded and turned toward the end of the valley leading out of the mountains.
John watched until Dex was out of sight, then reentered the tent and zipped the flap.
"Ronon will be fine," Teyla said. "He survived on his own for seven years."
"Yeah," John replied. He pulled on his coat and sat on the crate next to McKay.
John rubbed his hands up and down his arms as he tried to warm up. He glanced at Teyla, found her watching him, and focused on Rodney, shivering in the cooler air.
John pulled up the blanket and watched Teyla pull another crate over to John's side and sit beside him.
"Ronon will bring back help," she said with a tiny smile.
~*~*~*~ SGA ~*~*~*~
Ronon hiked through the forest, savoring the solitude. The trees muffled the decreasing wind, and other than an occasional chirp from a bird, the only sound was snow crunching underfoot as he walked. He took a deep breath of cold air, enjoying the peaceful silence that always came with a big snow.
Joining Sheppard's team had given him a purpose and a way to kill Wraith, but living in Atlantis also meant he was rarely alone. He had enjoyed the company of his fellow soldiers when he was part of the Satedan military. Tyre telling wild stories around the campfire. Rakai challenging all-comers to fight him while Ara egged him on. He had thrived in the devil-may-care attitude that came with soldiers fighting a war.
Seven years running, he had shed the need for such camaraderie. Anyone he met was a potential threat. Even those few he'd been forced to trust out of necessity, he soon left behind, afraid he would bring the Wraith to their doorstep. Thanks to the Wraith, he had discovered how to survive alone.
Then he'd captured Sheppard, and Ronon's life changed again. Over the last year, he had slowly relearned how to be comfortable around the team and a few others, such as Zelenka and Beckett. But there was something to be said for hiking through a snow-covered forest alone.
"Certainly quieter," Ronon muttered, glancing back toward the camp.
He pushed through the last of the trees a few minutes later and stood at the lake's edge. The late-morning sun glinted off the water, and for a moment, Ronon stood along the shore of a different lake. A lake on Sateda, and Melena stood beside him, one hand tucked into his arm as she pointed to where they would build their home once they were wed.
"We will teach our sons and daughters to sail and swim," Melena said as she stared across the lake. "And our families will be close by."
"Maybe not too close," Ronon replied with a wicked smile.
"Ronon Dex! What exactly are you implying?" she replied, squeezing her arm.
"This," Ronon replied, bending forward and kissing her.
Ronon blinked a few times and wiped his nose.
The Satedan lake faded back into memory as he stared out at the snow-covered trees.
Melena was gone, and as far as Ronon knew, so were Tyre and his fellow soldiers. But there was still something of Sateda, he reminded himself.
In the months since finding Orlin and the other Satedan survivors, he had made two trips back to Haven. Once after the recent failed alliance with the Wraith. And the second after the team returned from Keota.
Willem and the others had welcomed him with open arms, and visiting Marta had been a balm on his soul after everything that had happened with his capture and forced return to Sateda. His interactions with Orlin were still stiffly formal. Ronon suspected they both had too many tragic memories for their relationship to ever return to what it was before Sateda was destroyed and Melena lost.
Ronon stood staring at the lake for a few moments, then pushed the memories back into a far corner of his mind. He had a job to do, he told himself.
He filled the canteen, took several long swallows, refilled the bottle, and tried not to think about the past. He capped the canteen, stood, and spun around when he heard a soft thump behind him.
Had Sheppard decided to come after him? Ronon wondered as he scanned the forest behind him.
A gust of wind blew past, shaking the snow from the trees at the lake's edge. Ronon heard another thump and watched the crystals dance in the air as one of the trees shed its load of snow.
Ronon waited a moment, and when he didn't see Sheppard walk out of the forest, he hooked the canteen to his belt and started down the mountain. He had a rough idea of where the portal was in relation to the downed jumper and checked the sun's position every ten minutes as he hiked through the forest.
Along with the sense of peace, the solitude gave Ronon time to consider recent events with Kolya and the Wraith. Kolya getting away again rankled him. After hearing how McKay had acquired the scars on his arm, he too, had made a silent vow to deal with the Genii commander, either singly or with Sheppard.
He had almost succeeded on the mining planet.
Ronon heard the whoosh as the portal engaged and ran faster. Kolya was not going to escape again, he vowed. Not after what had just happened in the forest with McKay. He had seen McKay's panicked expression as he fired the particle weapon at Kolya. But it was too late. The blast hit McKay full in the chest. Kolya had dropped the scientist and run before Ronon could do more than notice there wasn't a bloody hole in McKay's chest.
As far as Ronon was concerned, Kolya was no leader but a coward. He had used McKay as a shield, purposely moving McKay into the line of Ronon's fire. The only reason McKay wasn't dead was because Ronon hadn't reset the weapon after Randorian's people had confiscated it.
Ronon ran into the clearing, saw Kolya standing near the control pedestal as Genii soldiers ran into the watery pool, and growled low in his throat.
"Kolya!" Ronon shouted as the last soldier entered the 'gate.
Kolya turned, gave Ronon a mock salute, and walked into the portal. Ronon was only a few steps behind when the portal shut down.
"No!" Ronon shouted.
He turned to the control pedestal, intent on following the Genii, and slammed a fist on the edge of the pedestal when he saw all of the glyphs were dark.
Ronon stared down the mountain as the memory washed over him. He had grudgingly accepted that Sheppard had not been in a position to stop the Genii commander's escape this time, but letting the Wraith go still rubbed him the wrong way.
You'd think they would learn after Michael, he grumbled to himself. Wraith cannot be trusted, and letting another one go was a mistake. How long would it be before the Wraith found them and caused fresh problems? he wondered. When would Sheppard learn that the only way to deal with the Wraith was to shoot on sight?
As for Kolya, Ronon had meant what he said to Sheppard before the snowstorm. After learning about the scars on McKay's arm, after Kolya nearly killed McKay on the mining planet, and now after Kolya had captured Sheppard and tortured him, Ronon would not let him escape again.
The next time he saw the Genii commander, he wouldn't wait for Sheppard. He'd shoot to kill and deal with any fallout afterwards.
By mid-afternoon, he was halfway down the mountain. The sky was clear, and the sun warmed the rocky outcrops, melting the snow into treacherous rivulets. He had left the last of the forest behind in the valley and few trees grew from the rocky ground. Ronon grimaced as he studied the slick rocks leading down to a grassy meadow surrounded by more trees and overlooking the open plain below.
He checked the open ground to his right and left, then glanced back up the mountain. There were no boulders and the few trees were too small and spindly to tie off the rope. He looked over the edge again, saw a few places where the rock was cracked or jutted out allowing for hand and foot holds.
Climb or look for another way down?
Ronon glanced back up the mountain and shook his head. Trying to find another route would take time. Time he didn't have.
"Great," he muttered.
He paced from one end of the outcrop to the other, found what he hoped would be the least dangerous route, and started down the rocky face.
"Always maintain three points of contact," Tyre said from his position above Ronon. "That way, if you lose a hold, you can recover."
Ronon reached for a seemingly stable rock and felt his heart climb up his throat as the rock pulled free of the cliff face. He grabbed the support rope with both hands and swallowed hard as he slowly swung back and forth.
"Make sure of your next hold before moving," Tyre told him. He grabbed the rope and stopped Ronon swinging. "You're lucky we're tied off. Otherwise, you'd be a dead man."
Ronon grimaced as he carefully made his way down the slope. No rope this time, he reminded himself.
He was little more than halfway down when he slipped on a patch of black ice and slid several feet before catching himself on another outcrop. Once he stopped sliding, Ronon clung to the wet rock face with his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to get his heart rate back under control.
"Too close," he muttered as he carefully descended to a narrow ledge.
Once he was sure of his balance, Ronon quickly checked his hands and scowled when he saw the numerous scrapes and cuts across his palms.
Just some lost skin, Ronon told himself. He wiped the little blood on his trousers and, after checking the rock face below him, continued his slow progression down the mountain.
He slipped a few more times but managed to catch himself each time and, with a last jump, landed at the edge of the muddy clearing. Scanty patches of snow lingered under the trees lined along the clearing's far side. A stream meandered out of the trees and across the meadow. Birds chirped in the nearby trees, and Ronon saw several rabbit trails leading from the edge of the trees to the stream.
He surveyed the meadow and nodded to himself. Plenty of cover and a defensible position. If he was still running, the meadow would have been a good spot to camp and rest for a day. He glanced at the sun, still a few hours from the western horizon, and shook his head.
No time to stop, he thought as he crossed the meadow and stood at the stream's edge.
The clear water bubbled over a few stones before dropping over the side of the mountain. Ronon glanced over the edge and grimaced when he saw the waterfall drop fifty feet or more before cascading over a series of jagged rocks and then plunging down several hundred feet to the plain below.
"Not good," he muttered.
He glanced to his left and right and nodded when he spotted a narrow animal track leading down to the open plain from the meadow. Snow lined the path's edges closer to the mountain, but from what Ronon could see, the animal track seemed safe enough.
He knelt at the stream's edge, and after a quick taste, Ronon nodded and filled his empty canteen.
He drank his fill, set the canteen aside, and dipped his scraped hands into the cold water, hissing as the water rinsed out the scrapes and cuts. Despite the frigid temperature, he dipped his hands in and out of the water until he was sure the scrapes were clean. Then, he dried his hands on a scrap of cloth he found in McKay's backpack and examined his palms.
"Nothing serious," he grunted as he poked one of the shallow cuts with his finger. He stuffed the cloth into the backpack and then tapped his earpiece.
"Sheppard," he said as he zipped the pack closed and stood.
"Sheppard here. How's it going?"
"Nearly off the mountain. Should be down before dark."
"Just be careful," Sheppard admonished. "You won't help anyone if you fall and break your neck."
Ronon looked down at his scraped hands. "I'll be fine. Should be back to the 'gate late tomorrow afternoon."
"Understood. Sheppard out."
He drank the canteen dry, refilled it, then stood and pushed through the trees at the edge of the clearing, looking for a way down to the path.
Three hours later, Ronon slid down the gentle slope at the mountain's base and stared at the valley as the sun set. The diffused light bathed the valley in shades of gold and red, highlighting the scattered clumps of trees standing amidst the tall grass waving in the evening breeze.
The stream he'd found in the meadow joined another, forming a twisting river leading off to his left. The water ran close to bank height even though the snow in the mountains hadn't reached the lower elevations.
Ronon stopped at the stream edge long enough to fill his canteen, then jogged along a dry, dirt animal track, looking for a place to camp. A herd of deer scampered across the valley in front of him. Ronon stopped, and his hand reached for the particle weapon.
Had something spooked the animals? he wondered as he surveyed the valley. When he didn't see any predators stalking the deer, he relaxed.
Good hunting, Ronon noted as he watched the animals until they were out of sight. Plenty of water, he added, glancing at the meandering river. So where was everyone? He thought back to the tower and the team's previous encounter with Oberoth. Had the Replicators done something to the people here? he wondered. Or had something happened that forced both groups to abandon the planet?
"Doesn't matter," he told himself. "Finish the job, then let Sheppard worry about it."
He had taken only a few steps when he heard a rustling noise in the grass to his left. He glanced down, and a moment later, a large brown and green snake slithered out of the tall grass. The snake was as big around as Ronon's wrist and several feet long. It paused on the trail, raised its head, and stared at Ronon as its tongue tasted the air. After a few seconds, where each contemplated the other, the snake lowered its head and disappeared into the grass on the other side of the animal track.
Ronon was not a superstitious man, but he was still Satedan. From his earliest days, his mother had told him snakes were a symbol of transformation and healing and that a snake crossing his path was a sign of good luck.
"Always show deference to the snake," his mother said. "He has blessed you with his good fortunes, and if you do not wish the luck to turn bad, you must thank the animal for its guidance."
Ronon nodded toward the snake, waited until he was sure it was gone, and continued down the trail. Twenty minutes later, he found a rocky outcrop surrounded by a stand of popple trees whose golden leaves shook in the breeze. He walked around the outcrop, checking for evidence of a predator using the area as a den, and nodded when he decided the area was safe. He shrugged off the backpack and the coil of rope, and tapped his earpiece.
"Sheppard."
There was a long pause, and Ronon was about to try calling Teyla instead when Sheppard finally responded.
"Go ahead."
"Out of the mountains," Ronon reported as he dug through the backpack and pulled out one of the MREs.
"Any problems?"
Ronon glanced at his scraped palms. "No. How's McKay?"
There was another longer pause, and Ronon glanced up the mountain.
"Sheppard?"
"Sorry," Sheppard said, and Ronon heard the underlying concern in his tone. "Teyla was having trouble with Rodney."
Ronon grunted as he added water to the MRE's cooking pouch and set the now boiling pouch containing his dinner next to a rock to heat. "What sort of trouble?"
Sheppard sighed over the radio. "The fever has been climbing all day and he's more out of it."
Ronon glanced down at the bubbling pouch. "I'll eat, then keep going. Walking all night, I'll be back to the portal tomorrow morning."
There was another pause over the radio before Sheppard replied. "No. You've been on the move all day. You need to rest."
"Going to take most of a day to get back to the 'gate," Ronon warned.
"Yeah, I know. But it can't be helped. You won't do McKay any good if you drop from exhaustion before you get back to the 'gate."
"If you say so," Ronon said and tapped off the radio.
The golden glow faded as the sun set and darkness crept over the valley. Ronon settled against the rock with his dinner, listening as the night sounds took over the valley. He heard the rustling of a few animals and the dry hiss of the grass blowing in the breeze. A few seconds later, he heard the yip and reply of brush wolves.
Following the deer? Ronon wondered. Or was something else out there?
He stopped eating and listened to the animals barking to each other. Once he was sure the brush wolves had moved farther into the valley, he settled against the rock and ate a few more bites of his dinner. A few seconds later, he felt his back muscles tense and froze with his fork a few inches from his mouth.
What was it? he wondered, listening for any unusual sounds.
He didn't hear anything out of place, but when the feeling refused to go away, Ronon set the MRE pouch on the ground and stood with one hand on the butt of the particle weapon. He walked around the rocky outcrop, looking and listening for any threats. He didn't see or hear anything, but the strange feeling in his gut remained.
Ronon stood, staring out into the valley. The brush wolves were gone. He didn't hear anything other than the creak of the popple trees and the tall grass rustling as a breeze blew across the valley.
It took him several long seconds to realise what was out of place. It was too quiet. There was no Sheppard laying out a plan for the following day. No Teyla telling a story. No McKay complaining about his feet and back aching or explaining in excruciating detail some piece of technology they had found.
Ronon sank against the rock and picked up his dinner. He sat with the fork poised halfway to his mouth as he realised with a start that he missed being with the rest of the team.
Maybe the snake was right, he decided. He had changed. He wasn't the same man he was a year ago. Ronon glanced up the mountain to where he thought the jumper had to be. He'd sleep for a few hours, he decided, then head for the portal at first light. His team, no, his friends, needed help.