14 February 2012

Einar’s rest did not last long, hushed conversational tones of the others as they as they enjoyed dinner pulling him from his sleep to lie for a moment unmoving, frozen, eyes closed and hands ready for action as he tried to get a grasp on his surroundings, come to some understanding of the voices he heard, and it took him upwards of a full minute to realize that he was right where he wanted to be, there in the cabin with Liz and the baby. Kilgore’s voice had thrown him off, meshing oddly with some of the dream-images that had come crowding in nearly as soon as his eyes had begun closing in slumber. Along with Kilgore’s voice, though, he recognized Susan’s, soft, lyrical, and best of all heard Liz adding to the conversation and knew her, voice like the wind in a grove of aspens in the summer, and she was talking about the evening meal. Which explained the wonderful aroma of roasting elk and spicy, simmering gravy that seemed to surround him so heavily that he could almost taste it just by breathing, setting his stomach to twisting and cramping with hunger and leaving him, in his state of half-dream, to see vivid images of all manner of wonderful but unobtainable food.

Home, then, and relieved indeed he was to discover it, drawing knees up to his chin for a bit of additional warmth and wondering how he had managed to grow so dreadfully, intractably cold, smothered as he was beneath the hides. And--took him a bit to figure out the source of the hard lumps that seemed to be surrounding him there in the bed--packed with hot rocks, too. Had he been outside again, and forgotten? Doubted it. Hair didn’t seem to be wet as it surely would be had he been out in the snow, and he was certain, despite the occasional periods of haziness which had undeniably marked the past several days, that he would have remembered a recent trek out into that storm. The one in which he’d become so hopelessly if briefly turned around that morning, leading to…yep, wasn’t imagining about the fingers. Really are a little frostbit, just as I thought. Strange thing about the storm though. He couldn’t seem to hear the wind anymore, wondered if it might have quit. Must have quit. Must have cleared off out there, for the air rolling off the walls to be so deeply, nose-crinklingly cold. He shivered--hadn’t quit shivering since he’d wakened, actually, and it was exhausting him, leaving him weary all the way to his aching bones, wanting to go back to sleep--tucked his chin down against his chest and breathed for a moment the warmer air beneath the bear hide, eyes drifting closed.

Couldn’t stay there. Must make sure Liz had what she needed, see that plenty of firewood was stocked for the night, snow cleared away from the tunnel mouth and door should more be on its way soon and contemplate--perhaps in consultation with Kilgore, perhaps not--the wisdom of banking the fire and allowing it to burn into the night, considering the seemingly inevitable pattern of low and concerning air activity that had followed the breakup of every major storm in recent memory. That thought did it, set him in motion and got him up against every urging of his body--stay, sleep, you’ve got to get warm and sleep--as he shook off the hides, swung his feet to the floor and pressed palms to the ceiling until a wave of dizziness passed, and he could see again.

“Got any of that supper left for a hungry, scrawny old mountain critter who’s got no idea what he could have been doing in bed this time of day, but is most apologetic for the inexcusable laziness?”

Liz laughed--a beautiful sound it was; he couldn’t remember hearing that laugh too often, lately--hurried across the room and caught him just before his legs collapsed and dumped him on the ground, bracing him, keeping him on his feet as he stood swaying, arms around her, chin on her head and a big smile sweeping across the grim, almost desperate lines of his face at the sweet, tangy scent of willows which seemed always to follow her, clinging to hair and clothing and putting him in mind always of the gentle, soft green sunlight that filtered down through the slender whispering leaves of willows near the water, vibrance, quiet joy and a solace beyond words.

“Well, what’s so funny about dinner, anyway? Can’t a fella be hungry? Stuff smells awful good…”

“Nothing! Nothing’s funny about it at all. I’m just so glad to see you awake and ready to eat, that’s all. I missed you. Come on over by the fire. You almost froze a while ago just sitting on the floor, and I can see that you’re still pretty cold. That’s why you were in bed. Needed to get warm. Don’t you remember?”

Einar shook his head, followed her over to the stove where he nodded his acknowledgement to Bud and Susan. Really didn’t remember, and the fact bothered him. Couldn’t afford to be losing time like that, bits of the day gone beyond his ability to recall, especially not with others present, as they currently were. Well. Guessed he really did need to eat something, perhaps prevent himself, if possible, from becoming so thoroughly chilled that his brain began shutting down, which near as he could piece together seemed to be what had happened. The supper smelled even better now that he was standing over it, remaining portion still hot and steaming and setting his mouth to watering so that he could hardly restrain himself from seizing the pot and digging in, but suddenly he was overcome by an incredible wave of dizziness, sinking quickly to the floor and blinking back the blackness that tried to overwhelm him. Which is when he saw what Kilgore was doing, saw him carving and scraping at those bone dart heads and was on his feet again in such a hurry that he very nearly toppled over right onto the hot stove before getting himself back to the floor in front of the tracker.

“Hey now, what’re you doing to my darts! Had those things almost finished when I conked out or whatever I did, and now you’ve gone and scraped them all up so I’ve got to start over!”

“Whoa, take it easy man. These aren’t your darts. No way I’d touch your darts. They’re right where you left them. Just figured it was time to try my hand at a few of my own, so I helped myself to a few bone scraps, and have been giving it a go. Not half bad, don’t you think?”

Einar was laughing, shaking his head and inspecting the carved bone creations, which really were, he had to admit, none too shabby. Close replicas of his own. “Yeah, looks like you got a knack for those things. If I were you, I’d increase the angle just a little bit where the two edges taper together, make the things just a little sharper, and you’ll be just about ready to get out there and kill you an elk or a sheep or something. Planning on sticking around?”

“No, you’ve said yourself there’s not room for the two of us up in this particular basin, and I’ve got a sneaking suspicion you’re correct on that one. But I’d hate to pass up on the opportunity to add another weapons system to the arsenal I keep here in my head, so now seemed a good time to learn the art and science of producing accurate and lethal bone arrowheads.”

“Yep, looks like you’re well on your way. And I’m gonna leave you to it, too, because I got to try this supper I’ve been smelling, but not…” voice hushed, low, he knelt beside Susan, held out his arms for the baby and sat there staring into the silent, sleeping little face, “before I visit with my son for a minute. How’re you doing there, little one? Getting plenty of sleep it looks like, and that’s good, real good, you just sleep and grow and before you know it, you’ll be crawling all over this place and helping me prepare traps and tan hides and do all the things you got to learn to do, living up here…no time at all. Here, you go on back to your mama now, ‘cause it looks like Susan’s busy over the stove and besides, you’ll probably be waking soon and whenever you wake, it seems you’re hungry, yep, just like me…”

Liz took little Will, breathing a sigh of relief that he hadn’t been wakened by Einar’s handling--he was incredibly gentle with the child but, at the same time, Liz found herself occasionally worried about the clumsiness that came over him in the cold, afraid at times that there might be some risk of his losing his grip--and sat with him beside Einar as Susan dished out a generous helping of the remaining supper, glad to see Einar’s eagerness and hoping he’d finally be able to get a good solid meal in him.

Crouching over his supper like some oversized if mostly starved bird of prey Einar did his best to put away a good portion of the wonderfully spiced elk roast and gravy, chopping everything finely and trying to chew well enough that he might not have a problem but having to stop after nearly gagging himself on the first bite of elk he tried, despite the precautions. Tried again, same results. Just not working. Discouraged if not particularly surprised--might as well leave it for someone else to enjoy, though he did scoop up a bit of the gravy before abandoning the stuff--Einar set his dish aside, sitting back against the wall, nauseous, worn out after his effort and already trembling in the chill air that seeped in despite the well-insulated walls.

Susan could see the direction in which things appeared to be headed, took his dish and returned the remaining food to the pot, draping one of the bear hides around Einar’s shoulders and serving up a good-sized slice of her gelled meat broth concoction, instead.

“This isn’t warm and I know it’s not as good as elk with gravy, but it’s nutritious and I think you’ll be able to get it down, at least. Give it a try. Tomorrow if we can get out and take a rabbit or something, I’ll try to make you some blood pudding. That ought to be just the right texture, and it’s full of iron, too. You and Liz could both use the iron.”

“Whatever this is,” Einar remarked, trying a little sliver of the stuff and finding it quite delicious as well as fairly easy to eat, “you sure do a good job of making it. I ought to get the recipe. Would go well with my fermented bear stomach pudding!”

“Oh, it’s not fermented but it is a bit unusual, I have to admit. Just a way of making do with what you have, stretching supplies…”

“Speaking of supplies,” Kilgore glanced up from his arrowhead project, “I’ve got a little expedition I need your help with in the morning, Asmundson. Assuming the weather cooperates.”

Einar looked slightly skeptical. “What’s that got to do with supplies?’

“Lots. Wasn’t too much we could pack in on our backs that first trip up here after we jumped, but that don’t mean we didn’t bring more with us…” After which the two of them went on to discuss in depth the logistics of the coming expedition, Einar concerned about leaving tracks and going over with Bud several routes by which they could minimize such danger, the two women listening with interest and tossing in a terrain detail or other consideration now and then. Engaged though he was in the conversation Einar was clearly struggling hard just to stay awake, and despite trying not to notice--he wouldn’t have liked it--Susan and Liz thought he looked just unbearably cold sitting there against the wall with his knees knocking against one another and shoulders shaking as he spoke but it didn’t seem to bother him much other than that fact that it was obviously tiring him so badly, and as they’d already given him the bear hide, neither did anything to interfere for a while.

After a time Liz--unable to bear watching him sit there and freeze any longer and wanting very badly to help him get warm--offered to help him over nearer the stove and supply him with a few hot rocks but he just declared that it was plenty warm in the cabin--which, indeed, it was; the little stove proving quite effective on even the coldest nights--and besides I like the cold and if I’m freezing it’s my own doggone fault for being so scrawny. Which, indeed, could be argued, but Susan worried that it could be the end of him if he didn’t start taking more interest in getting himself warm, perhaps even allow them to help out just a bit. She could see how much energy his body was expending just trying to keep his temperature up to minimally functional levels--and only half successfully, at that--and she knew it was energy he really didn’t have to waste, but was hesitant to press him too hard on the matter, as she had a distinct impression that the oversight was more intentional on his part than it was accidental. Still needed to say something, make an effort to get the situation turned around, and would have, had Bud not saved her by heaving himself to his feet and retrieving a map from his pack, wanting Einar to point out in more detail just which route he intended the two of them to use, in the morning.

13 February 2011

Done refurbishing snowshoes and making a few repairs to Liz’s less-used pair, Einar took out the rawhide bag which contained various bits and scraps of deer, bear, sheep and elk bone which he had saved as being particularly favorable for one project or another, choosing several and setting to making a new set of darts for his atlatl. He needed something to keep his hands busy and had been intending for some time to provide himself with a spare set of darts against the time when he was out doing more hunting again, and certainly needed them before spring arrived. The work was intricate and required painstaking care which was nearly beyond the ability of his sore and swollen fingers, which was exactly the sort of project he’d needed. Kilgore watched with much interest as he worked, picking up a discarded fragment of bone and beginning to scrape and structure it against a chunk of granite, slowly seeing the rough shape of a dart head begin to emerge.

Towards dark the snow slacked off, skies clearing and with the fading of the storm the cold set in, deep, crackling, seeping in around the cabin door and creeping its way through a few of the cracks which hadn’t been quite as well insulated to settle in an almost solid-feeling mass on the floor, leaving Liz, Susan and Kilgore glad that they had warm boots to wear but freezing Einar very nearly to the bone before anyone realized there might be something amiss with him. Pressed against the wall near the water barrel in what had become a favorite spot of his when needing a bit of space, partially completed dart heads abandoned on the floor in front of him, he had very nearly stopped shivering by the time Susan--bringing a second serving of her jelled broth concoction in the hopes that he might have by then finished the first--discovered his plight. Arms purple up to the shoulder beneath his loosely-worn deer hide wrap and eyes cloudy, distant, it was clear to her that Einar was in some trouble and she wanted to pull him to his feet, help him to the bed where he could be out of the dead-cold layer of air that had settled on the floor and begin warming, but he shook his head, insisted he was just fine.

“A little chilly down there on the floor, don’t you think? You look just a little chilly, to me…”

“My…my natural…habitat. Like to be…cold.”

“Well that freezing floor might pass as natural habitat for a warm blooded creature with a lot of fur, a wolf or wolverine or something, but you’re not furry enough to keep warm, and really, I think you could hardly even pass as warm blooded right now when it comes down to it! If you doubt that, I’d be glad to get the thermometer from my medical kit, and we could check…” Which Einar did not want, not at all, as he knew the results would be bound to worry Liz, who did not need any worries at the moment with the new baby to care for and besides, he knew she could tend to become quite stubborn and a hassle to deal with, herself, when she got worried, so he shook his head, made an effort to get up. Legs stiff and numbed, he didn’t quite manage it on the first try. Susan took him by the arms, gave him a boost to his feet.

“Now come on, up you go. Better get in there with Liz for a while, help her look after the little one and maybe thaw some of that ice out of your bones before nighttime comes and the cold really sets in.” Still wanting to object, Einar allowed himself to be guided over to the bed, helped in beneath the bear hide and given over to Liz, who handed the sleeping little Will to Susan--child seemed quite unwilling, so far, to sleep unless either in his mother’s arms with his food source very nearby, or in motion. Immediately Liz began working to warm Einar, asking that Susan bring hot rocks from atop the stove and wrapping them in hides before putting them behind his back, pressing others to his stomach and sides as he began to shiver himself warm again, still rather in a daze but aware enough to be thankful, and to tell Liz so. Hadn’t, despite what she appeared to think--and who could blame her, really?--even intended to allow himself to slip over that edge this time, had simply lost track of things as he sat working to carve out the new dart heads and the entire thing seemed to him quite ridiculous, actually. As it did to Liz, though her view of it was slightly different.

Kilgore grumbled under his breath at the goings-on, fool kid, hand him over here and I’ll show you how this ought to be dealt with, strip him down, throw his hind end out in the snow for an hour or two, bolt the door and see how well he likes freezing, after that…but it was only bluster; he would have done no such thing, under the circumstances. Might have given the offending creature a good whack upside the head in an attempt to unscramble his brains, but only after having first carefully restored them to a marginally functional temperature. At which task the women seemed to be doing a fine job, so he went back to his work, chipping and shaving at a fragment of deer bone in an attempt to replicate one of Einar’s atlatl dart heads, for whose craftsmanship and functionality he had to admit a great deal of admiration. Always keen to learn the construction and use of new weapons, the tracker had since first seeing the device wanted to try his hand at an atlatl and accoutrements, and figured in the long, snowed-in days at the cabin, his chance had finally arrived. It was to be a fair exchange; he’d brought some goodies for Einar, as well, if only the doggone fool kid would hurry up and get his feet back under him so he’d have some chance of surviving a hike down to the basin where the stuff had been stashed. Chance of making it back in something like a useful condition, anyway, I should say. ’Cause I’ve got little doubt he’d survive the actual walk; fella’s made of some pretty strong stuff, and it only seems to get more tenacious, the closer he pushes himself to the edge. Good quality, that one, but it’s gonna end up killing him if he don’t get things sorted out pretty quick here. Yeah, have to wait a bit on the retrieval mission for that cargo drop.

The delay didn’t concern Kilgore too much; he and Susan had packaged everything very well--some things he’d done alone, the ones he figured no one else had any need to know about--and it would be just fine down there in its hiding place amongst the short timber of the basin. Fine, at least, until the bears began stirring about in the spring, hungry, ornery and ready to tear into anything that smelled even remotely edible, which a few of the inclusions in that drop very well might, but that time was months in the future and he would, if not able to get down to the location with Einar before departing the area, leave him detailed instructions on how to find the stuff. Which might be a problem, he realized, depending on the fugitive’s state of mind at the time. He might get himself all convince that it was a trap, some scheme by which he was to be captured or killed without any risk to others, motion activated beacon, rigged gear, poisoned food, Kilgore had little doubt his mind was thoroughly capable of assuring him that one or more such nefarious schemes were at work with regards to the cache, which was why he had really hoped the two of them could make the recovery trip together, get the stuff sorted out and hauled safely back up to the cabin where it could do everyone some good.

Well. Maybe tomorrow, if he can get himself a little better fed, warmed up some and stay that way. I’m sure all it would take would be for me to mention that there just might be something that needs attending to down in the basin, and he’d have them fixed-up snowshoes strapped to his feet--bare feet, probably; seems he’s not thinking too straight lately--and be out the door trying to figure out what it was before I could even get my coat on, so I’ll just not mention it until the time seems right for us to go.

In the meantime, cold clamping down so hard outside that he could feel it right through the good, stout walls of the cabin, radiating off of them and creeping in to wrap tentacles around his knees and ankles--time to head out to the tunnel and haul some of that wood in, before we really settle in for the night--Susan’s supper appeared to be nearly ready, she and Liz talking quietly over the stove, and he was more than ready to eat. As would Einar have been, had he not fallen fast asleep beneath the bear hide, his first real rest in well over thirty six hours, and badly needed.

12 February 2012

Seeing that Einar had been able to get a bit of the Nutella down without choking on it as has been the problem with both the broth and the more solid bits they’d been trying to give him Susan had an idea, chopped a handful of rabbit meat very finely and covered it with water in a pot, adding every bone she could round up from their recent meals, breaking some of them so as to get them under the water, and setting the entire thing to simmer. After several hours of simmering the mixture would, she knew, turn into a rich broth which ought to thoroughly congeal as it cooled. The finished product, which would be similar to a gelatin dessert or, perhaps more accurately, to the meat broth aspic recipes she used to make in jell-o molds, ought to prove both nutritious and easy for Einar to eat without gagging and choking and feeling like giving up. Wanting to add to the nutritional richness of the food she stirred in, after removing it from the heat, a quantity of the liquid iron supplement she’d been giving Liz--might have simply tried to persuade Einar to take some of it each day, too, but expected he might be a bit more willing if it was quietly incorporated into the meat gelatin--as well as a bit of additional milk obtained quietly from Liz in between feedings of little Will. Einar still had no idea they’d been including it in his broth, and Susan felt slightly uncomfortable secretly including one thing and another in his food, but as getting him some serious nutrition seemed quite literally a matter of life and death at that point, she figured the sleight could probably be justified. Especially as he had not specifically stated that he wanted to avoid any of the things she was including… Not that he’d been given the chance. Broth finished and bones strained out, Susan poured it into both halves of her stainless steel mess kit, and set the concoction out in the cooler air of the tunnel to set up.Ought to be ready in under half an hour at these temperatures, and then we can see how it works for him.

Hard at work once again on his snowshoe repairs, Einar had noticed Susan working on something over the stove but hadn’t paid it much heed, thinking it likely to be one of the various concoctions she’d been making for Liz, rich mixtures of fat, meat, nettles and various other things she’d brought--hoped it was for her, anyway, as he’d seen her put some of Liz’s iron supplement into the mixture--and he didn’t quite know what to make of the situation when she deposited the stuff out in the tunnel. Strange thing to do, unless she’s trying to attract a marten or ermine right there into the tunnel so it can be trapped… Couldn’t figure it out, so he went back to his work, only a few more lengths of webbing left to weave in. Had been slow going and wasn’t getting any easier, hands troubling him fingers stinging terribly, swelling, and though he still believed they had sustained no serious or lasting damage from the cold that morning, he did he did figure it might be wise to treat them once again with the balm of Gilead salve Liz offered him, smearing it on the most greatly affected areas and covering them lightly with gauze from Bud and Susan’s medical kit.

Einar wished he hadn’t managed to incur the injuries, especially on so simple an expedition as the one he’d made out to retrieve meat from its spot hanging in the nearby spruces, but at least their pain gave him something to focus on--besides, of course, the intricate work of repairing the snowshoes and the often-times rather intense effort required to keep himself awake and sitting in a more or less upright position--something to which to fasten his mind when it tried so hard, as it seemed wont to do since his conversation with Kilgore, to wander off down distant paths to times surely better left in the past where they really belonged. Strange that the pain of his frostbitten and in places blistered fingers should be the thing to provide him such solace, but the pattern was a familiar one to Einar, one hurt--pressing, undeniable and inescapable for its very immediacy--replacing another to a great enough degree that a person could for the time leave that other, larger thing aside, and carry on. Worked for him, and in that sense, he was glad of the fingers. And even--though he wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone in the room--glad, in a strange, roundabout way, of the desperate and in recent days near deadly hunger that had reduced him to a thing he barely recognized, animated skeleton held together by the barest physical bonds and propelled forward by a will and spirit which grew stronger, keener of purpose and more unwavering in their resolve even as the body which held them grew increasingly weak and uncooperative.

In that state of existence, frustrated though he found himself at times for seemingly lacking the ability to pull himself out of it, Einar found solace just as he did in the smarting fingers with which he now struggled to finish his snowshoe project, the level of focus and resolve required simply to go on breathing, moving himself through his appointed tasks in such a condition acting to salve the other hurt which threatened at times to creep up and overwhelm him. The strength required to go on resisting such basic human urges as to fill one’s stomach, be warm and go to sleep proving to him that he still had what it took to stand firm, hold his ground against the greatest pressure and not give in, not break. And--most important of all, though it broke his heart every time he found himself in the position to call on it, for that meant he had at last given in, had fallen--the resilience to pick himself up and start all over again when he did finally make one concession or another, find the strength to once more stand firm.

With those things in mind and having for so long used a similar mechanism to see himself through life--though not always with the awareness of what he was doing; that had come only in very recent years, and he wasn’t entirely sure he liked having the knowledge, but there was no going back--Einar found himself a bit apprehensive about this thing they wanted him to do, Susan, Kilgore, his own dear Lizzie, resented their intrusion and wondered if he’d be able to keep his word and make an effort to take the advice they intended to give him, accept the meals they apparently planned to push his way on a regular basis. Shook his head, looked up at Liz, who sat comfortably in the bed, reclined against a rolled up bear hide, feeding little Will. None of it mattered, really, nothing besides the fact that his family was depending on him, and he must be there for them. The rest was his burden to carry just as it had always been, and he would find some way to bear the load. Had to do.

Was apprehensive about something else, too, knew that no matter how strongly he might in the current moment wish to comply with the requests of his friends and his wife when it came to resuming his eating and working to get himself in a bit better shape, there would inevitably come a time--many times, if the past was any predictor--when he would see their efforts not as friendly endeavors but as the direct and insidious advances of the enemy--eat, I know you want to eat, and you can do it, too, just as soon as you tell us what we need to hear. Come on, just one word so we know you’re willing to cooperate, that’s all it will take, you’re going to die if you don’t eat, and soon, surely you know that--the face of that wiry little officer pressed close to his own, smell of hot rice and fish and vegetables coming in through the bamboo slats of the cage to further tempt and torment him as it twisted his stomach into knots, and when he looked up at Liz again it wasn’t she who held their child, but that evil little man--dead, he’s dead, but it didn’t matter, meant nothing, in the moment--and Einar hid his face in his hands, felt as though he was going to be sick. He didn’t want to see her that way. Couldn’t afford to see her that way, for her sake as well as for his own, for the mind is a strange thing, reality dreadfully slippery at times and the last thing he wanted to do was to be placing her in any danger. So he had an awful dilemma, and could see no good way out. Other than to accept the mysterious, gelatinous substance that was now being offered to him by Susan, something akin to a very thick, chilled animal broth--smelled good, even if it looked a mite peculiar--and he took the dish, thanked her and sat staring at the stuff, trying hard to separate things out into their own realities, get them in some sort of order, convince himself that it was alright to eat, that he wasn’t about to lose something--or everything--by doing so.

Sometime in the late afternoon hours as supper was simmering on the stove, Einar finishing up his re-varnishing of the repaired snowshoes and Liz briefly napping with the baby in the bed, Muninn the raven decided he had, at last, had quite enough of being out in the storm, rapping insistently at the front door and setting up such a fuss that he really could not be ignored. Einar, feeling responsibility for the creature and knowing that he wasn’t likely to give up until his protestations were acknowledged and acted upon, hurried to open the door and allow the bird entry. Still cautious around the two guests and wary, especially, of Kilgore, Muninn made a careful circuit of the cabin, critically inspecting the two interlopers before coming to rest on Einar’s shoulder, twisting a bit of his hair and chortling softly as if to say, I don’t like it, but if you say these folks are alright, then they must be alright. “Yeah,” Einar growled, answering the bird almost as if having understood what he was trying to say, “they’re alright. Sneaky buggers, but they don’t mean any harm, really.”

Comments from 10 February

Anonymous said…

I'm thinking that the Nutella will go a long way towards providing his body with the nutrients it needs to come back from the edge. Especially since he's managing to keep it down better than the broth. I hope Susan packed even more of it in the stuff they bulk dropped.

A case of it, maybe! They’d better get to the site where Kilgore stashed that stuff before the bears come out of hibernation, if so! Yes, the Nutella ought to help pull him back from the edge, at the moment.

Nancy1340 said…

Very good. Thanks

Thanks for reading!

Anonymous said…

I've tried Nutella with all manners of things, but I'm convinced the best thing to have it with is.... a spoon!

heh

-CC

I’ve got to agree with you on that one! Though Nutella brownies are awfully good, too…

Like these: Nutella Brownies

Philip said…

two.

Men of WAR.

So close they breath each others air.

TRUST? Yes, at the end of a spear, for one....

For the other,

Reflexes more superior, as one is closer to death than the other.

Words. From 30 years ago or more???? Active NOW, present time.

that can be a driving force beyond normal human understanding, like the two Wives watching, listening.

in the end, Brotherhood.

Welcome HOME, Einar, it takes time, Brother, longer for some, than others....

Yet. Welcome Home.

i cried, the long tears.

Those which come as my Native American Friend said, "from your Cirrhosis of the Liver"....

Intense Chris, more than any I have read of yours.

Thanks, it is a healing to cry.

philip

Well then, I’m both sorry and glad that the story led you to do so, this time. Not easy stuff to write about. Thanks so much for your words. Welcome Home to you, too.

11 February 2012

I've got no chapter for today, but will be back with another tomorrow.

If you'd like something to read and look over today, here are a couple of articles--each with a lot of pictures--I recently posted in another location, one on basic wilderness skills such as covered in these stories, and another on a hike I did this past summer.

Primitive Skills and Wilderness Crafts

My Wilderness Wanderings

Hope everyone's having a good weekend!

(Philip--so good to hear from you today, and thanks for your words. Guess that chapter proved to be about as difficult to read, as it was to write...)

10 February 2012

With the storm showing little propensity to lessen as the morning went on everyone remained gathered close around the fire, Susan at times talking quietly with Liz about the baby, Bud sorting through his pack and attempting to restore some sort of order after having everything dumped out and strewn about in various states of dryness since their arrival and Einar turning his attention to his snowshoes, which, slung on his back, had received a bit of damage in his tussle with Kilgore just after their arrival. Bud watched as he worked, removing a few bits of damaged webbing and carefully splicing fresh rawhide in their place, setting the refurbished shoe near the fire so the damp hide strips and twists could dry and proceeding to coat them with pitch, rendering them as water-resistant as the remainder of the shoe. Good work, and very thorough, though at times Einar would catch himself staring off into space with no concept of what he’d been intending to do next, having to mentally retrace his steps in order to figure it out. During one of these episodes, concentrating very hard on trying to find his place in the world even as he stared at the half-spliced rawhide strip in his hand--should have been a clue, but unfortunately held no meaning for him whatsoever, at the moment--Einar was jarred from his reverie by Kilgore’s booming voice, the tracker having moved over nearer to watch the snowshoe repair process.

“Awful shame that I can’t take a few dozen pair of them things down and sell ’em in town for you, Asmundson. Craftsmanship’s superb, and I’m pretty sure you and the Mrs. could make a pretty comfortable living off that work if there was some way to get it down there, especially seeing as you haven’t got too many bills or monthly expenses of any kind, living up here like you do.”

Confused for a moment Einar shook his head, stared at the work in his lap until he’d got his bearings again and then he laughed, finishing his splice before glancing up at the tracker. “Well, guess maybe I might be able to have a half dozen or so pairs ready by the time the next fall rolls around, if you’re serious about it--and if you want to carry them out and claim the work as your own! Because I’m sure not lugging them down there and doing any door-to-door marketing… ‘Hi, I’m Einar Asmundson, your friendly neighborhood federal fugitive and master snowshoe-maker, and I’d like to show you my wares…’ Nope, not a good idea at all. Can’t see myself getting too far with that one. Nor would I want to risk the trips down to town to spend the money, even if it should succeed…”

“Well now that is a point, but you know, Sue and I could spend the money for you--and do an air drop or two every year with the stuff you wanted. New boots, traps, maybe some spices to add variety to all your rabbit stews and mountain goat roasts, all kinds of incidentals folks might find handy from year to year, living up here…could be a good thing.”

“Whoa, don’t be getting ahead of yourself. We set up anything like that on a regular basis, and it’s only a matter of time before it attracts attention and we get an unwelcome visit by the Mountain Task Force tactical team…or a more likely a Hellfire or two, right through the front door. Really want to avoid that, if we can.”

“Yeah, I know. Not much of a plan under the circumstances, but maybe in eight or ten years when they’ve managed to pretty much forget all about you and Task Force HQ has gone back to being an old, abandoned feed store, maybe then it’ll be practical. Though by then you’ll probably have four or five little Asmundsons running around up here, lots more to keep track of and no time to make spare snowshoes to sell. Of course by that time, this first little one’ll be pretty much a man, helping out a good bit, himself. Weird thing, life...”

To which the tracker got no response. Einar, though hard at work and trying his best to be part of the conversation from time to time was obviously struggling, sleep stealing up on him and leaving his head to nod over his work with an increasing frequency which did not surprise Liz in the least, seeing as he’d got little if any sleep that past night, and hadn’t done much better the one before. Would have been good had she been able to persuade him to curl up in the warmth of the bed--seemed he couldn’t even come close to staying warm there in the cabin, even with the stove going and a bear hide occasionally draped around his shoulders--and take a good long nap until supper was ready, but she knew the futility of making any such suggestion. At least he was, so far, seeming willing to accept the occasional sip of broth when either she or Susan pushed it on him, was managing to get more of them down than not, and that had to be a good start. Susan had a plan though, leaving the bed where she’d been visiting with Liz and telling stories of her own children when they’d been babies checking to make sure that Einar was still awake--he hadn’t looked it, there for a minute--before carrying it out.

Stepping carefully past the two men, Susan took down one of the jars of Nutella from the honored spot up in the rafters where she’d watched Einar carefully stash it the day of their arrival, pressed it into his hands. “Eat. You need a snack before dinner, and this ought to do you some good.”

Einar thanked her, stared at the stuff, turning the jar this way and that and pressing it to his nose as if able to smell right through the plastic--which, incidentally, he was--but made no effort to remove the lid, setting the precious vessel aside after a time, still staring at it if in a trance.

“Well, don’t just look at it,” Susan gently insisted, placing the jar back into his hands. “Won’t do you any good at all unless you eat it.”

“Oh yeah, does me a lot of good just to look at it. Beautiful thing to look at, dream about, and it makes me glad just to have it here sitting stashed away safely on the shelf where I know I can look at it whenever I like.”

Susan could see that he was entirely sincere but wasn’t buying his reasoning, not as an excuse to avoid the snack, at least, opened the jar, gave him a stern look, and a spoon. Several minutes later she again turned her attention to Einar after helping Liz clean out one of the cloth diapers she’d brought--it was a bit challenging, considering the lack of running water in the place, but could be managed, and would save them from having to venture out so often in search of fresh usnea lichen to use as absorbent diapering material--to find him wedged between the water barrel and the wall, slowly working on his third spoonful of the rich hazelnut paste and trying his best to conceal the tears that had begun tracing their way unbidden and quite unwanted down the sunken contours of his face at the first taste of the stuff. Susan left him alone, glad that he was eating and not wanting to make things any more difficult by bestowing unwanted attention.

Comments from 9 February

Nancy1340 said…

Better.

Thanks

Russell H Whyte said…

and another step towards recovery has been taken. Glad to see it.

Thanks for the new chapter!

Russ

Thank you both for reading. :)

Meplat said:

Good men do cry.

Mike

Well yes, just not in the presence of others, most of the time…