Rex Pov
The frozen mud of the orchard path broke under my heels with a sharp crackling noise. I kept my back bent low, my fingers gripping the rough iron of my pipe until the chill went right through my palms. Behind me, Toby and Hagar moved through the bare apple trees, their thin breath rising in small grey puffs in the cold morning air.
"The smoke is moving toward the creek," Toby whispered. He stopped by a split fence rail, his small teeth chattering together so hard his chin shook.
"Keep your head down," I said.
I scrambled forward another ten feet and dropped to my knees near the old stone boundary marker. The earth here was soft from the morning dew, and five large, deep holes were pressed into the dark dirt. They were not the neat boot prints of Caleb's uniform soldiers. These marks were wide and uneven, left by heavy, split-soled work boots, and two of them showed the deep gouge lines of logging axes dragging in the mud.
