The late morning sun shone through the sparse leaves, lighting the tent but not warming it; the crisp air of winter lingering even now. The fire smoldered nearby, the ashes of many nights creating a mound on which sat the fading embers, glowing in a pale mimic of the present sun. The rustle of polyester disturbed the near-perfect silence, such an unnatural sound hushing the nearby insects. The wind filled this moment with a sudden gust, as if uneasy of that which roused from within the tent. A small body spilled out almost comically, if not for the shocks of red that veritably scarred the intensely white hair, plentifully flowing across the female frame now on the ground between the tent and failing embers.