The sign was held at plot B, again at plot C, they waited less than a second for her to snap into reality and raise the flat palmed signal. Her whistle was perched on her lips. Palm up and out. Left hand on the stopwatch clicker. Her eyes steady on the Sergeant at plot B to drop his hand.
The whistle blew three seconds before each leader blew theirs in three short bursts. It broke the still air with the shriek of wind, the thumps of boot falls on the dirt worn path. The clouds were blowing in over the treetops from the hill cresting them, covering the sun light that had warmed her. A chill ran down her skin as the wind blew on her neck. In one hand she wanted it to storm it's ass off, just because she loved such weather. On the other hand, the pasture was already muddy from the last rain and she knew it would lead to a night of work instead of play back home.
Maybe this was the Man Upstairs providing her a distraction from potential disappointment. Or maybe, if she were to be of true religion, this was His way of telling her to quit being naughty. She grinned to herself then fumbled after her whistle as it fell around her neck. She turned down the pacer line and trotted after her men.
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