Pushing open the creaking wooden door, he found two bunk beds in the room, their bedding in disarray, with several mud-caked patrol boots piled in the corner.
He took off his coat and hung it on a nail behind the door, then pulled out his own bedding from beneath the bed and collapsed headfirst onto the hard mattress.
Three minutes later, the young man returned from washing up and lay down on the upper bunk opposite him.
"Master..." the young man suddenly spoke in the darkness, his voice hesitant.
"Hmm?"
"Do you think those poachers really won't come out tonight?"
The old ranger was silent for a moment, then turned over to face the wall. "Don't overthink it. Get some sleep. We have to get up early tomorrow!"
The young man did not ask again. Before long, steady breathing filled the room.
The old ranger kept his eyes closed, but he did not fall asleep right away.
That unnatural silence was like a thorn lodged in his mind, impossible to pull out.
But his body was simply too exhausted.
After more than half a month of high-intensity patrols and only three or four hours of sleep each day, even a man of iron could not endure it.
His eyelids grew heavier, and his thoughts gradually blurred...
No one knew how long passed before he finally drifted into sleep.
--Bzz--Bzz--Bzz--
A piercing alarm suddenly erupted!
It was sharp, urgent, and incredibly penetrating, frantically echoing over the entire camp!
The old ranger sprang out of bed almost on instinct and slapped the room's light switch.
"Master, what happened?" The young man on the upper bunk had also been jolted awake, his voice carrying a trace of panic.
"Get dressed! Hurry!" The old ranger had already leaped out of bed and shoved a