An early autumn night in northern Ohio. Endless fields of grain stretch in 
all directions, broken only by the occasional silo, small copse of trees, and 
of course the everpresent county roads. The moon shines down on the scene, 
casting all in an eerie, silvery light. The stars, except for the very
brightests, are obscured from the faint orange glow on the horizon that
promises cities (or at least interstates) just out of sight.

Suddenly, a shadow passes overhead. Is it a cloud? No, too fast. A flock
of birds? Too low. An army of... squirrels? Gliding by silently overhead,
bouncing from the ground every few yards, the squirrels pass by for several
seconds before disappearing into the shadows and distance.

Loren panted a bit as he struggled to keep up with the rest of 'A' group.
He'd set the pace himself, but, though he hated to admit it, he was a little
(just the tiniest bit, understand) out of shape. Not to mention out of
practice. But he'd drop dead on the spot before he admitted he was tired.

Besides, he told himself, putting a little extra step into his bounce and
gaining back some of the ground he'd lost, it's only a few more hours until 
sunrise.