I lie flat, flatter than I’ve ever lain before. Cold wind burns my cheeks. I’m a shag on a rock, with nowhere to dig in. Surely they’ll see me.
          An hour to sunset, or thereabouts.
          My watch ticks, the loudest sound on the mountain side, but I daren’t turn my head to look. Instead I gaze down on the valley and the carnage below. That view’s going to get tired awfully quick. I fear the shooting and fighting’s not over yet. I wish that it were. I’m tired.
          
For more watch out for Words to Music.