Black Heart Machine spent the night in her usual place—the alcove halfway up the mountain that was just large enough to accommodate her slender, dark frame and nothing else. She had dozed restlessly, her dreams dwelling on past moments that both horrified and empowered her, and when she finally awoke to darkness of the early morning, she was glad to be relieved of the burden of such memories.

Stretching her spindly legs, Black Heart Machine moved away from her alcove, stepping onto the Peak’s main path and onward to the stream she knew trickled around its base. Thirst beckoned her, and Machine could not suppress the need for refreshment any longer. The spring air was growing heavier, the promise of a hot summer just around the corner.

As the night peeled away, the morning sunlight illuminating the edges of the tall trees nearest to the creek she was approaching, Machine sees two figures standing quietly beside where she had intended to pause and drink. It seemed she was not the only early riser among the Vulcans, a thought that comforted her in a satisfying way. There should always be someone awake and alert, making sure that they were protected from any stallion who might think himself brazen enough to sneak within their borders and attempt anything unsavory. There was too much at stake to let their guard down even for a moment. The Peak’s lack of warriors had not gone unnoticed, and Black Heart Machine was keeping an eye toward those she thought might fit the bill.

“Good morning,” she says pleasantly to the both of them before touching her lips to the cold water to take a much needed drink.

BLACK HEART MACHINE