High in a nearby tree, the first bird broke into a long, rambling lyric that paid tribute to the advent of dawn. Others followed as men stirred, twitching like nervous cats while they mumbled in their dreams of battles fought and sweethearts loved.
A light drizzle had dampened John's hair, and the overnight drop in
temperature had left him cold and shivering. Yet a part of him remained warm where a nocturnal Lydia had lain close, her head resting on his shoulder, and her arms and legs intertwined with his. As the dream receded, her hair
fluttered over his cheek and she whispered, "I'll always love you."
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