The sky: unmarred by clouds, blue.

The hill: lushly green, impatient wildflowers bursting towards the sun.

The lake: a mirror, calm, dignified, reflecting the sky.

On the hillside sat a man. Mostly, he resembled a boy. He squinted at the sky and the intensity of the blue beat down on him with as much force as the sun. He didn’t mind, not really. The heat had put him in a trance, or maybe it was just his own mind letting go.

The back of his neck burnt. His hands ripped up the grass without thinking about it, without seeing it.

He was still squinting at the sky, willing the clouds to rumble in and the rain to turn the lake into a churning, splashing mess of ripples, and for the wind to rise up not blowing, but howling, and for lighting to split that damnably calm blue sky into ragged pieces.

The feeling was gone as soon as it had come. He closed his eyes, feeling vaguely feverish. Perhaps he had heat stroke. It wouldn’t surprise him – he had been there for hours.

Even so, he stayed even longer, until sunset, watching as the light melted into the horizon, setting the wildflowers on fire. There was a rustle of grass behind him: someone walking up and settling down beside him.

“So this is where you’ve been all day.” The boy on the hillside didn’t say anything. “We missed you. We thought you had run away.” The man on the hillside stood, not looking in the direction of the voice. No, he hadn’t run.

“You ready?” A simple question, but it made the ground seem to tilt under his feet. He was silent, watching the dying sun bleed into the green, green grass.

And suddenly, he found he could look his best friend in the eye. The olive green of his gaze matched his uniform rather than the hill, but that was all right.

“I think I am,” he said. He  took a deep breath, picked up his helmet, and went.