Fireflies. Stars twinkling in the night sky. Two moons. The mountains off in the distance. My own hand in front of my, holding my torch.

Wind on my skin, biting. My scarf tickling my nose. Cold, wet grass brushing against my ankles. The warmth of my torch, near burning my palm.

Crickets. Gulls in the distance. The squelch of the grass beneath my boots.

Petrichor in the air, from the rain earlier today. My own sweat.

I taste something metallic.

Oh. I bit my lip again.