He fitfully rolled from side to side across the uneven ground, feverish, shivering, wrapped tightly in a threadbare woollen blanket. The scrap metal chimes that hung at the mouth of his tent gurgled a sporadic melody in the harsh wind. Between futile attempts at sleep and violent coughing fits, he began to notice a lingering brightness at the mouth of the tent. At first it was faint, like the last glow of the embers of a dying fire, but it waxed until he could no longer ignore it. He groaned, wrapped the blanket around his shaking shoulders, and crawled out through the tent flap. The moon was an ocean of rusty light, accented only by the cold blue of the stars beyond. For a time he remained on his knees, head bowed, unmoving in the frigid midnight air. But then he rose, shrugged off the blanket, and walked straight ahead, vision locked on the ruddy moon that hung full and heavy over a calm, unsalted sea.