Perdition Campfire

A space western.

Cecil squatted beside the campfire, his knees creaking like old hinges before he dropped back into his synth-wood chair. The material held his broad frame without complaint, something he wished his late wife had done more often. Flamelight flickered across his worn face, carving shadows into the lines that time and war had etched deep. His bloodshot eyes, rimmed with sleep he hadn’t earned, reflected the orange tongues licking skyward.

Fern, his dog, half shepherd and half something tougher, settled beside him with a huff. Age had slowed her, but her eyes still burned sharp, catching the flickers of movement just beyond the firelight. The imves, rodent-things brought over in some forgotten shipping crate generations ago, scurried in and out of the scrub, bold now that night had taken hold.