Dark shadows circled my nest on the ridgeline that spooky winter night. All I could see was the moonglow sifting through my misty breath, glinting off my suppressor. Icy winds whipped up through the valley to kiss my bearded face & freeze my teardrops. I thanked God for my pakol and woolen fingerless gloves. The fibers kept me warm under the blanket of stars. Not a cloud, nor a single wisp could I see against the pitch. I had the itch to pop off a round on a falling pebble. But to do so, might have meant certain death. The area was crawling with bad guys, insurgents looking for heads.