[This post is from Cameron’s point of view.]
The horses were restless.
They were not the only ones.
Cameron stared at nothing for a few seconds, running the curry brush along the flank of a chestnut mare. The horse settled at his touch, nickering softly and settling into her feed as he brushed her. Being out here was easier, helped him clear his head—helped him start to wrap his mind around what they’d begun to plan.
It would only be a few hours before the scouts the Hunt sent would return—he knew that in his gut without being able to say how he knew, or why he knew it. Maybe it was instinct, maybe it was something else, something he couldn’t name—didn’t dare name. By dawn, they would be planning their assault, one way or another.
He still hadn’t decided what he was going to do. Not entirely, anyway. When their meeting had broken up he’d mumbled something about sleeping on it and talking to Neve about it and then deciding. He wasn’t entirely certain how the others had taken that statement.
He wasn’t even sure that mattered.
For all he knew, it might be a game-time decision for him whether to stay or go—or perhaps he’d decide in the midst of the planning, or something else.
Maybe Neve would talk him into staying or talk him into going.
Either way, he wasn’t sure.
Cameron just knew that one way or another, he’d have to do something—he just wasn’t sure what it was yet.
Yet.
