There's no way to tell time at camp it just passes as it wants. It runs as long as we want till the sun falls. But early in the morning, before the sun rises above the camp, my pocket watch hangs from a rusted out screw and dangles with a silent chirp that only those close enough to it can hear. It heartbeat the very thing that makes the gears inside spin It makes them twist and turn and the little teeth clink against each other. With horses right out the window and and a pink sunset cresting over the treetops. The rustle of feet shivers through the house and the day begins, like clockwork.