Craving the alpha soldier 의 모든 챕터: 챕터 161 - 챕터 170

Arthur POVHe woke to rain-soaked silence and the awareness of weight—his own body pressing into the ground, the night pressing into his bones. For a moment, he did not move. The overhang above them still held, though water threaded down its edges in narrow lines, falling steadily into the dark. The fire had long since gone out. Cold had taken its place without apology.Arthur sat up slowly, testing joints, letting stiffness announce itself before easing. Dawn had not yet arrived, but the darkness was thinning, losing its density. He breathed out and watched the vapor lift, dissolve.Around him, the others slept where they had settled, shapes wrapped in damp cloaks and shared exhaustion. He felt no need to wake them yet. Morning could wait.He stood and stepped out from beneath the rock, letting the rain touch him fully. It had softened overnight, no longer heavy, more like persistence than force. The land beyond was muted, colors pressed flat by water and low light. He welcomed the c

Arthur POVArthur woke to birdsong layered thinly over silence. The sound was tentative, as if testing whether the morning would accept it. He lay still, listening as the notes repeated, gained confidence, spread. The camp around him remained quiet, bodies sleeping in shapes softened by rest rather than collapse. The road was there, just beyond the trees, but it did not intrude. It waited.He sat up and stretched, feeling the aftereffects of yesterday’s restraint. Not fatigue exactly—more a looseness, as if something he had been holding had finally been set down. His breath came easily. His thoughts followed.Light filtered through leaves, dappling the ground in uneven patterns. Arthur stood and moved away from the camp, stepping deliberately onto grass instead of packed earth. The difference still mattered to him. He welcomed the uncertainty beneath his feet.The land sloped gently away from the trees into a shallow meadow where dew clung stubbornly to each blade of grass. His boots

Arthur POVArthur woke before dawn, though he did not immediately notice the absence of light. The air had a quiet density, the sort that holds itself in expectation, yet contains nothing urgent. He lay on his back, letting the stillness press gently against his ribs, and listened. The valley below breathed softly: a low rustle of grass, a distant drip of water from leaves, the faint murmur of stone settling.He sat up slowly, muscles stiff from yesterday’s descent, joints reminding him of each step taken. The fire from last night had long since died, leaving only ash and a faint warmth that lingered like memory. Arthur pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders and stepped away from the camp. The others were still asleep, drifting in a slow, undemanding rhythm. He left them without intention, not to escape, not to separate, but to find the stillness of morning unbroken.The land unfolded before him gradually. Low hills rolled away, interrupted by scattered stones and the occasiona

Arthur POVArthur woke to the faint hum of the valley, the soft, almost imperceptible vibration of life continuing beneath the thin layer of morning mist. The world was neither bright nor dark, only transitional, a liminal space he had come to value more than any destination. He lay still for a moment, listening to the subtle shifts: leaves brushing against one another, the distant rush of water over stone, the low creak of branches moving under wind. Presence itself seemed to pulse in the space around him.He rose slowly, muscles stretched and tight in equal measure, the residual ache from the previous days pressing insistently yet tolerably against his limbs. He brushed damp leaves from his cloak, adjusted the straps on his pack, and moved without haste to the ridge overlooking the valley. The others in the group stirred quietly behind him, preparing themselves in muted rhythm. Arthur did not speak. He did not need to. The world required only attention, and he supplied it.The sky a

Arthur POVArthur woke to the low murmur of the valley, a subtle vibration that carried without sound: the wind moving through long grass, the occasional rattle of leaves, the faint burble of water over stone. Morning had arrived softly, neither abrupt nor insistent, allowing him to remain in stillness for several moments. He lay on his back, sensing the ache in his shoulders and legs from yesterday’s climbs and the slow march across uneven ground. Fatigue pressed gently, reminding him of effort made, effort received. It was honest weight, grounding rather than punitive.He rose slowly, letting the earth release him without resistance. His pack was still heavy with essentials, yet its weight was manageable, a physical companion to the rhythm of movement he had cultivated over days. Arthur adjusted the straps, shook off damp leaves, and stepped toward the ridge’s edge to survey the valley. The others in the group stirred behind him, preparing in quiet rhythm. No words passed. None were