5 April 2012

Stalking, sneaking, moving with all the silence and stealth granted him by the heavily falling snow--nearly ideal conditions, in some ways--Einar approached the cabin, every sense alert for the ambush he fully expected would exist. Cabin was clearly occupied, smoke coming from its chimney and it made no sense whatsoever that his would-be captors would make themselves at home in the cabin without setting a trap for him outside, made little sense that they would make their presence in there known at all; seemed a good bit more logical that they should quietly surround the place but leave it untouched, wait for him to enter and corner him inside, trap him. He certainly would have done it that way. But perhaps they simply wanted to avoid the siege which might then result. Would result, unless they were prepared to destroy the cabin and him with it…which, based upon previous actions, they were almost certainly ready and willing to do.

All of which left present circumstances making little sense, and he wondered if perhaps the cold might be affecting his ability to fully comprehend the situation--had been feeling it rather keenly just after leaving Liz, entire body aching with its presence and that familiar tightness beginning to grip his middle as the shivers were wrung out of him with a force that left movement a difficulty thing, though that trembling had all but ceased, some time ago--knew it was a possibility but there was little he could do about it, just then. Had to make his assessment of the place, decide on a course of action which would keep Liz and the little one as far as possible from danger and hopefully allow them to enter the place long enough to round up a few pieces of critical gear before heading out into the storm again. If not—he wouldn’t risk it unless he could be reasonably certain he’d dealt with everyone they had on the ground at the moment, in which case, weather rather prohibiting air activity, he figured they could count on having some time before the next wave showed up—they had the cache he’d just hauled up from the basin, and could quickly go through its contents, carrying along the most useful items and hoping they would be enough to see them through. And hoping they weren’t rigged with transponders, too.

No time. Don’t stop and think about that right now. First thing you got to do is clear this cabin and try to get some sense of what’s really going on here. Now. No tracks leading to the place but the way this snow’s coming down, that could still mean they’ve only been there an hour or two…no skis or snowshoes or other gear leaning against the outside of the cabin or anything, and what am I supposed to do? Walk up, bust in the door and hope I can get a couple darts to hit home before they turn me to Swiss cheese? You know how that’s likely to go… Einar crouched lower in the snow behind his light screen of trees, weary, huddling, trying to force his mind back into gear and get some clarity on the situation, but it wasn’t happening. Even the raven had left him, sailing away to a nearby tree to hunch against the storm and watch unfolding events from a safe distance. Nothing for it. Couldn’t go on sitting where he was, for soon he’d certainly be finding himself too cold and clumsy to take definitive action of any sort, and he rose, stalked closer to the cabin, getting himself up behind it, adjacent to the area where the tunnel opened up but hidden behind a small spruce, the only shelter the spot offered. Had to draw them out, get at least one of them to leave the cabin so he could deal with the man out in the open, and he knew how to do it, was about to get started when he heard something off to the side behind him, just the faintest whisper in the snow but he whirled around, dart ready to fly but it was Liz.

Wrong. It was all wrong. She had said she would wait, and yet here she was beside him, bounding up on her snowshoes like nothing at all could be wrong, no need for caution and he motioned for her to stop, get down, hit the snow where she might still have some chance of avoiding detection, keeping herself and the child out of the crossfire when things opened up but instead she took his arm, greeted Muninn, who had again drifted down from his tree to land at their feet in the snow, and headed for the cabin, urging him along beside her.

“It’s Bud and Susan! They made it back, and they’ve got a fire going for us in there. Let’s go say hello.”

No. Held his ground. Wouldn’t move, and didn’t want her going any closer either, especially not with the baby on her back. She might be right, but certain as he’d been about the enemy presence in and around the cabin…would explain a lot, though, if the intruders turned out simply to be the Kilgores. Like why they had gone straight in and started a fire, alerting everyone to their presence. Would have done so because they were cold, and besides, weren’t trying to be stealthy. As might have an enemy who had managed to intercept the couple, incapacitate them and take their place, arranging quite a warm welcome indeed, and one he and Liz would likely not survive. Liz was all but dragging him at that point, firm grip on his arm, her presence, it seemed, pretty nearly the only thing keeping him from toppling over in the snow despite his best efforts, and he shook his head, pulled away from her, feeling the entire thing begin to spin out of control, entirely out of his control and he did not at all like it. Squinted hard against the blackness that was doing its best to seize him, managed to drive it some distance away and got back behind better cover, motioned for Liz to do the same, eyes darting across the nearby timber as he sought the best avenue of escape.

Liz saw what he was thinking, read it plainly in his eyes and in the little motions of his body--the ones which weren’t the stiff tremblings of an increasingly hypothermic and exhausted man, which conscious motions were rapidly becoming fewer and farther between; a definite danger sign, but he was too far gone to see it--knew she would have to do something if she wanted to prevent his taking off into that storm again. Rabbit stick in hand, she was fully prepared to take action, and would have, had not Bud Kilgore just then poked his head out of the tunnel to squint blinking and hatless into the storm. The tracker nearly lost his head, too, before Einar realized just whose head he was looking at, and lowered the atlatl.

Kilgore let out a great breath, relieved, realizing just how great had been his danger and thinking that the cabin could really do with some indoor plumbing, just to reduce the risk of unsuspecting guests being run through with darts every time they went out to use the facilities. “Asmundson, you scoundrel, who’d you think it was?”

4 April 2012

Heading out this morning and didn't get a chapter prepared for today, but I should be back Thursday afternoon with another.

Thank you all for reading!

3 April 2012

Smoke. Einar smelled smoke. Just a hint of it carried past on the wind and then gone but the scent had been sharp, unmistakable, and definitely out of place. They’d banked the fire well upon leaving but had been gone all day and through the night, and he’d never known their stove to so much as hold coals for that long with the sorts of wood they had available to burn, let alone still be putting off smoke when they’d been away for so long. Someone was there. Was nearby, at least, and had a fire. Holding up a hand, he stopped Liz in her tracks just behind him, motioned for silence. Tested the air. Wind was wrong. Couldn’t catch the scent again, but knew it must be there. Close. Either at the cabin, or above it, and either way, it wasn’t good news. Had to get in nearer where he could check, observe, figure it out, but didn’t want Liz and little Will that close to danger, to the potential action and he put a hand on her arm, spoke in the barest whisper. “Wait here. Wait for me.” She waited.

Closer. Smell of smoke pervasive now, undeniable. Moving slowly, inches at a time, listening as he went; minutes slid by with inexorable slowness. Cabin almost in sight, and he was shivering uncontrollably. Losing the feeling in his hands, aching feet going numb. Had to stop shaking. Held his breath but it did no good. Teeth rattling in his head, knees going like a sewing machine until he locked them, arms close at his sides, breathing, struggling to steady himself; had to be able to throw true, get a dart to its target. Wished he had the rifle. FAL. Would feel good to have the thing in his hands, give him more options, greater range. Almost went back for it, but changed his mind. Would be louder, too, and if the enemy was not alone, would alert the others and they’d be on him before he could do anything about it. Best to take these first ones in silence, if he could. Time for the rifle would come later. Several steps nearer and slicing through the snow came a black shadow, Muninn the raven, silent, gliding through the storm to land on his shoulder. Without a sound--not like him; a warning--the bird twisted a bit of his hair, sat there with head tilted, piercing black eyes staring into the storm. Einar nodded. Understood. Tightened the straps of his snowshoes, fitted a dart and stalked forward, ready.

· · · ·

Bud and Susan had traveled all day in that storm, Bud’s leg making it difficult for him to break trail through the deep snow but still he took his turns, snowshoes proving tremendously helpful when the timber allowed for their use. At times, it was simply too close and tangled to make the shoes practical, and the couple would stop, knock accumulated snow from buckles and shed the things, strapping them to packs until things once more opened up a bit. Cold, weary and battered by the wind they reached the cabin just after dusk, approaching eagerly, relieved, only to find its occupants gone, no answer when they shouted and pounded on the door and when finally they sought shelter in the tunnel and let themselves in, the stove was cold, place empty and looking as though it had been for some time. There had been no tracks leading away into the timber, snow and wind having thoroughly obscured any such, but there was little doubt in Kilgore’s mind as to where the couple would have gone, and why. He’d seen the way Einar looked at him when he mentioned the envelope that awaited him down at that cache, had known the fugitive would be finding or making a way to go retrieve the package just as soon as the next storm arrived to cover his tracks. What he couldn’t really understand was why, exactly, Asmundson would have allowed his new family to go with him out into that storm when they had a perfectly good cabin that could have sheltered them, instead, and he mentioned the fact to Susan as the two of them busied around the cabin, preparing and lighting a fire and dipping water out of the well-insulated barrel, setting it to heat.

Susan knew Liz better than Bud did, and knowing her, knew why she and the baby had ended up going along. Knew Liz likely would have left Einar little choice, new baby or not, wouldn’t have been willing to hear of his making that trip alone, as much difficulty as he’d been having of late. and now they were out there somewhere together, perhaps nearing home but likely as not about to hole up for the night in the storm. Helping Bud out of his snow-encrusted coat, hat and gloves and easing his snow pants over his injured leg, she could not help but be glad the two of them were not looking at doing the same, up there on the treeless, wind-scoured heights of that open and desolate red ridge. Selfish thought, perhaps, but she thought it anyway, holding chilled hands over the warming stove as she listened to the wind howl outside. Bud, too, was taking full advantage of the stove’s warmth; even with more-than-adequate clothing, the wind had really taken a lot out of him on the descent, and he hoped Asmundson was being sensible out there, at least staying conscious and sheltered and giving himself some chance of making it through the night.

Susan was watching him, thoughtful. “You know where they are, don’t you?”

“Sure. They’re down at the cache, or somewhere between here and there. Fella couldn’t wait to get at those papers once I told him about ’em, and I could see in his eyes that he intended to try again just as soon as it started snowing again. Heck of a night to be out there, isn’t it?”

“What if something happened? You saw the sort of shape Einar was in when we left, and Liz is strong, but if she ends up having to try and haul both him and the baby…do you think we should go after them?”

“Nah, give it some time. Those kids know what they’re doing out there. If they don’t show up in the morning…well, I’m figuring Asmundson probably lit out of here just as soon as the snow started falling and he was reasonably certain it would continue, which would mean sometime this past morning, and there’s no telling how long it would have taken them to get down there to the site. Fella’s got the ability to put out some real serious speed still, even beat all to heck and teetering on the edge of irreversible starvation…I saw it on our little trek together both on the way down and when he went and hauled my carcass back up here, too, but I’ve also seen what happens when reality finally catches up to him as it always does in the end, and he ends up flat on his face for a while. So depending on how things went for them, they might have made it down there in a couple of hours, or may just be reaching the spot, now. Then add to that the time it’ll take him to open up the duffel and clear it for bugs and transponders and doggone twelve-legged cooties and whatever all else he may be concerned about, and it’s almost a given that they’ll be spending a night out there, even if nothing at all goes awry. Which it probably will, if he gets into that envelope down there. In which case, and if they don’t show up sometime in the morning, I’ll head down there and scrape him up off whatever tree he ended up all wrapped around and, assuming he ain’t frozen too solid by that point to bother thawing out, I’ll get him back up here.”

“Well that’s a pretty dismal outlook on it! The part about him ending up frozen to a tree, at least. Hopefully Liz will be able to prevent that and keep him headed in the right direction, papers or no papers.”

“Yeah.” Right. Good luck with that. You haven’t seen that file… But he did not speak the second part aloud. Time. He’d give them time, let them have the night to finish their mission and make it back up the hill, and then he’d go after them. In the meantime the cabin was warming and so was he, Susan had supper going and the swelling was beginning to come down just a bit in his injured leg as he sat with it raised; all very good developments.

Comments from 2 April

Nancy1340 said…

Thanks, good chapter.

I hope it's just Sue and Bud that are setting off Einor's tingley senses.

We can hope so!

Thanks for reading.

2 April 2012

Worried about the papers, Einar sat there staring into the fire as he rubbed numbed, aching feet--the things were hurting something terrible as they warmed by the fire, bleeding a bit, and he hoped he hadn’t frostbitten them too badly in his earlier wanderings--and wondered if perhaps some of them had blown away before Liz came along and gathered them up, wished to go search for them before the still-falling snow should cover them over but Liz seemed to very much want him to stay there with her and had, of course, secured from him his word that he had no intention of running off again unclothed into the snow, which he would to some extent be doing, should he leave just then. Which quandary presented an obvious solution, and struggling to free himself of the last few wraps of paracord with which Liz had bound his parka in place he stood carefully so as not to fall into the fire, got back into the layer of wool that was supposed to go beneath everything, followed by his snow pants, parka and mittens. Better. Felt better, even, as he was just warm enough by then to realize how very cold he had become, spending the early morning hours out in that wind and snow, and the wool, in combination with the retained heat kept in place by the parka, felt good against his numbed skin. Allowed him to move just a bit more freely, or would, as soon as the shivering subsided some.

Liz, stirring the stew, was glad to see him getting dressed without any threats or encouragement on her part, but somewhat doubted his motives. Didn’t want him running off somewhere and skipping breakfast, as she knew he might be likely to do after a morning like the one he’d just had. Who would want to eat, after a thing like that? She doubted that she would, herself. But he had to. Couldn’t afford to be skipping meals just then, especially after the long, hard haul up form the basin with the cache the evening before, and his night and morning spent half frozen in the shelter and then in the snow. Without a good solid breakfast, she didn’t see how he would ever make the rest of the walk, that morning. Knew he’d probably find a way if there was one out there to be found, but hated to think what it would cost him. So it was with great relief that she saw him sit back down by the fire once in his warm clothes, checking on Will and holding his face over the simmering stew to inhale a big breath of its rising steam. Looked like he intended to stay, at least for the moment.

In silence they shared the hot breakfast, looking out past the wind-billowed form of the suspended parachute to watch as snow continued to fall in huge, lazy flakes, clusters of flakes, their downward course undisturbed now by the wind, as it had all but died out, and the sight was a beautiful one indeed. Liz wished they might be seeing it from the window of their cabin--if it had a window--while sitting in front of the stove safe and secure at home, but she knew they weren’t far from being there, not too far at all, once they packed up and got moving. Einar, too, was watching the snowflakes wind their lazy paths to the ground, but his thoughts were far away, very far and he could not seem to bring them back, despite his really wanting to find the words to ask Liz if she was absolutely certain she’d found all of the wind-scattered pages, back there behind the firs. Well, he didn’t have to ask. Could go look for himself, now that he’d got into his clothes and eaten something--not very much; the stuff seemed to want to choke him on the way down, but it had been something--like she wanted, and placing a hand on her shoulder by way of thanks for the meal he wandered over behind the trees, squinting through the falling snow as he scanned the area for anything that might appear out of place, hoping very much to encounter any lost pages, should they exist.

Found no pages, but what he did find captured the interest of the tracker in him, strange marks in the snow that he knew must be his own, and they told a story of struggle and anguish, the absurd movements of a mad and dying animal as it contended with some shadow foe in its last moments, on the way out. Einar studied the signs dispassionately, much as he might have done marks left by the death-throes of a floundering, failing winterkill elk, only this creature had been no elk and it had not died, not quite. Nor had it been alone in its struggles, as he saw where it had been pursued up into the timber, boot tracks urgently following bare, bloody feet and then evidence of yet another struggle, this one not solitary as had been the first and ending with a larger smear of red on the ground, mostly obscured by that time beneath freshly fallen snow. He shivered, put a hand to his head where a fresh wound was just beginning to crust over--hadn’t even noticed it, before--turned away from the mess in the snow and continued his search for lost pages. Found nothing. Could only hope Liz had got all of it, and he turned, went back to camp to help her pack up.

Already Liz had Will fed, changed and stowed comfortably in her parka, and Einar helped her take down the chute that had served as their windbreak through the night, packing it with the second into a tight bundle which he believed she could hope to haul behind her with minimal difficulty through the snowy timber which remained to separate them from the cabin. That was it, not too much to pack up, as they hadn’t brought much with them in the first place, Einar’s duffel having remained in fine hauling condition, with the exception of his having loosened the straps to get at the documents. Cinching everything down, he began the process of hitching himself for hauling, wrapping the wide buckskin straps several times around his hips and leaning foreard, hands braced on a spruce for balance, while Liz checked the knots and then insisted on redoing everything.

“Let me get some padding in here to protect your hips, Ok? You’d just going to tear them up worse hauling it like that. Here. I’ve got several dry diapers still that I brought for Will. I’ve mostly been using the usnea bundles since we left the cabin, so these really are extra and I think they’d be perfect as pads for your hips.”

Nodding, Einar allowed her to modify his hauling system. Hoped she wouldn’t be too long about it. Couldn’t have cared less about his hips, and could tell that he was working on borrowed time when it came to remaining on his feet and useful, just then. Really wanted to use that time to get the three of them back up to the cabin. Good. Seemed she was done, and he still standing. Time to be on their way. Windy. Snow scouring his face, and he liked the feel of it but once more Liz was beside him, parachutes in tow--apparently, they were going to work the way he had packed them--as she raised his hood, tied it tightly in place.

“You’re going to get frostbitten ears if you don’t keep that hood up! Just what you need, to go with your shoulder and toes…”

Shoulder? He didn’t know what she was talking about. Toes made sense, he supposed, after seeing those bare, bloody tracks all over the fir grove where he had apparently spent a good portion of the early morning wandering and flopping about in the snow and doing goodness only knew what else…only, that wasn’t quite true. About goodness only knowing. The tracks knew. Tracks always knew, and could always tell a person, if he took the time to really look. Well--he shivered again, seemed he really couldn’t stop shivering that morning, never had warmed up from his long, cold night and the morning’s romp in the snow--hunched his shoulders into the wind and began pulling--perhaps she was right about the hood. So he left it in place. Two hours later, deep snow and heavy loads inhibiting their progress, the pair were finally nearing the clearing. Einar found himself filled with a growing and not quite definable sense of unease as they closed the distance, steps slowing, squinting through the snow and testing the wind in the hopes of finding some clue, but not quite prepared for what he was to discover.

Comments from 1 April

Nancy1340 said…

Some guys came home just too broke to be fixed. I hope Einar isn't one of those guys.

Thanks

Everybody has different experiences and challenges in life. Please don’t look at people as “broken,” or needing to be “fixed,” just because they have different experiences, or challenges that you may not understand. We’re human. We live life the best that we can. I can’t speak for everyone of course, but please consider that some of us really may not want to be “fixed.”

Anonymous said…

Another very powerful chapter, FOTH, Thanks!

Mike

Thanks for reading, Mike.

1 April 2012

Realizing fairly quickly that it was Liz he had hold of and not someone else Einar let her go, easing away from her and staring through the darkness and the white clouds made by their breath, trying to figure out why she would have awakened him in such a manner. Saw nothing, heard nothing but the soft sigh of the wind of the trees and an even softer whisper as snowflakes were blown against the parachute which served as windbreak for the night, and he reached out, found her, keeping his voice very low.

“What is it? You hear something?’

“I heard you turning to ice. The crackling keeps waking me up.”

“Sorry, I’ll go over under another tree so you can…”

“No! That’s not what I meant, at all--and I wasn’t serious about the crackling. I just want you to be warm. Come here close so we can share some heat, and maybe we can both get better sleep.”

Einar shrugged, moved closer and allowed her to get her an arm around him. “I guess if it’ll help you sleep…”

Early in the morning, daylight just beginning to creep out from beneath the low, grey cloud deck, Einar left the shelter, moving carefully so as not to disturb his sleeping family, and succeeding. Stalking through the silent snow of the timber he crouched beside the duffel, worked, hands a good bit warmer and more flexible than they’d been the evening before, to free the straps of their icy snow and get the thing open. Managed at last to do it, retrieving the folder in it’s zippered dry-bag. Hadn’t got very far in his reading the previous day, wanted to examine the complete document, took a big breath and began.

It wasn’t as though Einar needed written details to remember some of the things detailed in that document like they happened yesterday; his dreams did that for him in vivid, stark detail many nights, feel of that bamboo floor against his ribs, stench rising from below to smother him as he took the tiny, strained breaths which were all his position allowed, white-hot hurt radiating outward from all his joints to tip him precariously towards unconsciousness, and he would have gladly given in to it just to be rid of the pain for a while, had he not feared he might well cease breathing altogether should he give up the monumental effort required to go on taking those shallow, barely-adequate breaths… He shivered, scrubbed a sleeve across his face, attempted to dry sweat-slick hands on his parka. No, that wasn’t it. The dream images were, in fact, often far more vivid than even the first-person details that sick, starved, fever-brained kid had been able to provide in his debriefing all those years ago to be put into writing and now resurrected by Bud Kilgore, so he didn’t see why finding them there in black and white should bother him so. But it did. And he hadn’t even yet got to the part where his memory was a good deal more fuzzy, the latter days of his captivity and the circumstances of his escape. Thinking about what he might find there, he could barely breathe. Had to get a grip on things. On himself.

Einar stood, glancing back at camp to make sure Liz was still sleeping, which she appeared to be, and he stepped behind a sheltering line of half-grown firs, hidden. Carefully returning the papers to their waterproof bag for a time so they wouldn’t attempt to blow away he removed his clothes, parka, snow pants, all the way down to the base layer which had helped keep him alive if not quite warm through the night, rolled everything up into a neat bundle and sat on it, once more taking up the folder. The cold bit into him as he sorted through the pages, wind tearing at his unprotected form and nearly taking his breath as it seemed to slide between his ribs like a knife, quickly chilling him to the bone but he welcomed it, the stilling, scouring, steadying reality of the cold as he began to read once more.

Read in the hopes of getting some clue as to why the text was troubling him so greatly, of taming, perhaps, his involuntary response to the thing and bringing himself back under some reasonable control but that second reading seemed to have the opposite effect, left him trembling and terrified, curled in a little ball on his bundle of clothes as he struggled to get enough air. Couldn’t. Not the way they had him tied and though he knew for a fleeting moment that it wasn’t real, was all some cruel construct of mind and memory, that knowledge quickly faded and he was fully immersed in the thing, breaths coming with labored irregularity and the joints in his upper body and legs feeling as though they were about to be torn from their sockets with the strain of his position. Couldn’t stand it, not for a moment longer but he did, one breath after another, his entire world reduced to a sharp, shimmering point of intensity and agony and a strange, bitter sort of almost-joy and when after what seemed an eternity of this his tormentor approached to begin interrogating him once again, he found it not at all difficult to summon up the courage to spit in the little man’s face. No. Not talking. Wasn’t afraid anymore. Which did little to impress his captor, the man striking him hard in the shoulder with the butt of his rifle and again in the ribs, the resulting wave of crackling, electric agony rippling throughout his body and finally ending, for the time, his torment, blackness welling up in an inexorable cloud to envelop him as he fell to the snow, unconscious.

When Einar woke he was cold, awfully, dreadfully cold, body cramping and aching with it, and Liz was sitting on his chest. Compressing his lungs. Could hardly breathe. Fortunately he knew her right away, did not struggle. His first thought was of the baby. Where was the baby? Ought to have been snug and secure on Liz’s back but the way he’d been struggling a minute ago--unless he’d dreamed that, too, which was appearing entirely possible--he certainly hoped the baby hadn’t been on her back. When he tried to sit up and check he found himself tightly secured in his parka, arms trapped at his sides and what appeared to be many feet of white parachute cord wound and tied about his middle, holding the garment in place. He turned to Liz, blinking in the morning brightness; storm wasn’t ended, but did seem to have abated some, clouds less heavy and the snow curling down more gently.

“What…what?”

“I’m sorry. I’ll let you go now, if you’ll promise not to go taking off into the storm again without your clothes…you know how that’s likely to end.”

“I didn’t…”

“Yes, you did. Twice.”

“Where’s Will?”’

“He’s asleep, warm and safe in our little shelter. Let’s go be with him, assuming you’re done with…whatever that was.”

“It was nothing. Just a little…dream.”

“I read some of it. You left the papers scattered all over the ground where you were lying in the snow and I gathered them up for you, and I read some of it. Just a page. I hope you can forgive me for doing that. I see where the dreams come from. I…” She shook her head, tears overflowing as she helped him up, tried to hold him.

Einar nodded, turned away, body rigid in her embrace, unresponsive. Wanted to be alone. Couldn’t stand to have her touching him just then, looking at him, seeing what he was, but he managed somehow to avoid forcefully slipping her grasp and bolting out into the snowy timber; he’d already done enough, by her account. Put her to enough trouble. She deserved better. Keeping himself carefully in check, he went with her to the shelter. Fire was going again, little Will sleeping snugly in his cocoon of rabbitskin blanket and parachute material, and all, it seemed, was reasonably right with the world. The real world. The beautiful, cold snowy reality of his high country kingdom, evergreen boughs drooping gracefully beneath their burdens of white and the entire place pervaded by the hush that comes only in the depths of a good, heavy snow, silence and a peace beyond understanding, and he huddled close to Liz there beside the gently crackling fire as she retrieved the sleeping child, time for his breakfast, and then theirs, and the walk home.