Through the trees there's an open space; like a room set down in the midst of the trees. Three green-shaded lanterns hang from a wire overhead, unlit now in the warm light; the man is seated on a stump, his back against the workbench, his eyes closed for a moment.

Just for a moment.

It would be wrong to say that Ingress has never seen Eddie Dean look this tired (http://no-prisoner.livejournal.com/13124.html?thread=226884#t226884). But it's been a very long time; more than half her short life.