The sun above a camp outpost several kilometers away from the wind devil slowly came into its descent, a lazy sinking that dragged the last warmth from the air and replaced it with a creeping darkness that swallowed the surroundings piece by piece.
First the treeline.
Then the outer watch posts.
Then the valley beyond.
Inside the camp the activity didn't slow. Several groups moved between tents, coordinating in low voices, exchanging information with the practiced efficiency of people who did this regularly. Supply runners cut across open ground. Officers hunched over maps inside half-lit shelters. Outside the camp perimeter, the groups that had been out since morning slowly filtered back in through the checkpoints, tired, many of them carrying something, exchanging the valley for the relative safety of torchlight and tent canvas.
This was a staging outpost.
