And thus the wind swept off the knoll, and with it the bitter-sweet taste of rain to come. A rain that would threaten a morass before us, slowing down our relentless onward march, drenching our gear and skin to the point of madness. Until then, however, we took in the joy of the waning sunlight and the sigh of the grasses and the beauty of the lonely trees. For at the beginning of every trial is a moment of beauty, and the hope that such beauty would return again is what turned our heels, and the march began anew.
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