Those were the bleak, crippling thoughts that were swirling uncontrollably inside Ben’s head at that moment, threatening to undermine everything he was. But for every ebb of the tide there must be a balancing swell. And so a counter-voice, a very old voice that had been there all his life, now found itself and began to speak, deep within his being. Because no matter what happens; no matter what shit you have to deal with; no matter what kind of hellfire the sky decides to rain down on you; this is where you are right now, and this is who you decided to be and take upon yourself; and you will damn well lace up your boots and pick up your weapon and put all that shit behind you and stand up and be the man you are.

No doubts. No second guesses.

Eyes wide open and no fear.

It’s who you are, soldier.

So fucking be it.

And then Ben suddenly spotted the distant figure moving along the lochside, and realised that he was no longer alone.

He watched the figure through the crossbow scope and turned the magnification up full to get a closer view. Whoever the person was, they were dressed in a heavy black quilted winter jacket that bulked out the contours of their body, with a hood pulled down low over their face to protect from the biting wind. They had emerged from the trees and were slowly making their way along the shoreline in Ben’s direction. Was it the poacher? He wasn’t carrying any fishing gear.

As Ben went on watching the figure in black, it seemed to him from the way the person moved, pausing every few steps to look around them, that they were searching for something or someone. But the angle of the hood kept hiding their face. The hopeful notion that it might be Boonzie flashed briefly, though only briefly, through Ben’s mind before he dismissed it as wishful thinking.

After a few moments the figure turned and began moving in the opposite direction, away from Ben. He was concerned that they might disappear back among the trees and be lost from view. If he wanted to find out who the person was, he would need to get closer.

He left his sniper’s position and zigzagged his way down the slope of the ridge, moving carefully and unobtrusively between rocks and bushes. From this distance, without binoculars or a telescope, it was unlikely the figure in black would spot him. Ben reached the foot of the ridge and stalked along the shoreline like some strange leafy predator, using the cover of the lochside shrubs and trees to hide his approach. The figure in black was moving more slowly and out in the open, making no attempt to conceal themselves as they ambled along the waterside and kept pausing now and then to gaze left and right. What, or who, were they looking for?