His skin had darkened since training began, though Ping thought this was only partly the sun and partly a thin layer of grime, dust and sweat.  There was a pungent odor in the camp air, and Ping wasn’t sure whether it was the stink of the mess tent or the smell of thirty sweating recruits.  Including himself.  And he wasn’t sure he really wanted to know.  He had two sets of trousers and jackets, but Ping tried very hard not to sniff either one when he undressed at night.  

He didn’t dare bathe, not when he was so uneasy with the other soldiers - and not when he was not, really, Ping.  Still, the recruit stumbled to the lake the minute training concluded for the night.  Dust billowed up around him, coating his already-dusty pants, but it was all worth it because in a few seconds he’d cupped his hands in the cool water, splashing it onto his face and emitting a (suspiciously soprano) groan of relief.

And then, face still dripping, Ping shifted on his knees, towards the bushes.  He was no skilled soldier - as the others were always quick to remind him - but Ping couldn’t shake the feeling there was somebody else nearby.