A serene night. A moment of granted peace bestowed on those who so very rarely experienced such. Silence stilled the air with the briefest of interruptions. The scuff of a leather boot pausing, the pitched creak of metal being lifted, the dribble of kerosene filling the bowl of a lantern. Then, a flicker of another 's flame. A hushed sigh of air as the flat wick is set alight; a single soldier in a row of many upon the wall, doing its part to nudge back the invading darkness of a chilled night.

But, more importantly, the sound of a pen 's scratch against paper.

The brush of fingers on blonde hair as it 's tucked behind an ear.

Dad,

I hope this letter finds you in good health. I know it 's been quite some time since we 've last seen each other, and I 'm very sorry for not writing more frequently. My time with the Scouts keeps me very busy and so I find it harder to come across a moment where I can properly sit down to write.