Early the next morning, Micah stepped out of the dormitory with a bounce in his step, his bag slung over one shoulder and a notebook clutched under his arm. He felt strangely refreshed like someone had lit a spark of new interest to drive him forward. The sky wasn't completely bright, a ray of sunrise spread on the quiet buildings.
Micah took a deep breath and strolled toward the small garden behind the dorms, a quiet hidden spot near the lake where hardly anyone came at this hour.
He hadn't even bothered with breakfast. He just needed to get the ideas down before they slipped away. Micah found a bench and plopped down. He flipped open a small notebook, already pulling out a pencil from the side pocket of his bag. He didn't hesitate. His hand moved in a swift, practised line. His brow furrowed in concentration, lips pressed into a tight line.
