18 October 2011

After much sorting, discussing and rearranging, the three men finally got their gear distributed and loaded up, dousing the fire, hanging their food it a tree against marauding bears but leaving the tent in place as they took off up the slope above, opposite to the spot in which Einar had concealed himself. Watching for a good ten minutes to be certain they had no intention of doubling back or returning to camp for forgotten items he inched backwards out from beneath the ground-hugging boughs of his evergreen hide, dreadfully stiff and cold and having quite a time of getting to his feet, when he tried. Good thing circumstances didn’t call for you to take off out of here in a hurry Einar, ’cause you would have been in some major trouble, and probably made an awful lot of noise in the effort, too, crashing and tripping through the woods unable to bend your legs and arms until you got the blood moving… Well. It’s moving now, or starting to. Can tell by the way my hands are stinging. Sure would like to scurry down there and crouch over the coals of that fire for a few minutes…still warm despite having water thrown on them, I can see the heat rising…but that seems tremendously ill-advised just now. If that place isn’t being watched by a remote camera or two it ought to be, and your ugly, scrawny hide’s probably the thing they’d most like to see show up on that thing when they get back. Make their job a lot easier if you come to them, now wouldn’t it? But you’re not here to make their job easier. Got to… he tried to take a step, leg collapsing beneath him and dumping him rather unceremoniously to the ground, where he sat for a moment half in a daze, rubbing a sore knee and trying to beat some feeling back into his numbed limbs, flexing arms and rubbing the raised scars on his wrists--usually white, even after all those years, but purple in the morning cold--where the ties had cut him nearly to the bone in places, and he tried his best to shove the memories aside; had too much to do just then and couldn’t allow himself to go back down that road.

Got to keep an eye on them, shadow them today and see just what they’re up to, if you can do it without too much risk of getting yourself spotted, ya clumsy old oaf. Which means warming up just a bit more before tailing them. Ok, on your feet again, swing those arms around and do a little dance or something, anything to get you a bit more steady on your feet because the more time you let go by, here, the faster you’re gonna have to move to catch up to those guys. Bite or two of food would help an awful lot, but there’s no way I’m going down there and lower the bear bag to get at their rations. That’s probably exactly what they want, isn’t it? Bait for the most dangerous prey… Nope. Not going for it.

Muninn had remained behind in a spruce overlooking camp when the men left and after watching Einar for a time he took flight, pausing behind a tree near the fire pit before dropping something at Einar’s feet and landing heavily on his shoulder, rasping a greeting and twisting a bit of hair just above his ear.

“Hi there, you old vulture,” Einar spoke in a voice nearly as hollow and raspy as the raven’s, dry for lack of water and barely a whisper, not knowing just what sorts of sensors and recording devices might guard the premises of the camp. “Had yourself a fine breakfast down there, didn’t you? Think you were making them kinda suspicious though, being so forward about taking their food. Making them wonder how come you’re so used to human critters, and I think Kilgore knew, don’t you? Yep, believe he’s got it figured out.” The bird, apparently frustrated that Einar had overlooked his gift and knowing the man needed to eat, hopped down and settled at Einar’s feet, snatching up the bacon and returning to his shoulder, all but shoving it into his mouth as Einar spluttered and coughed and sought to shield himself with his hands.

“Hey now, what’re you up to? What’s this? Ha! You scoundrel, that’s the stuff you stashed while they weren’t looking, isn’t it? Yeah, I’ll take it, and thanks. Since it’s right out of their breakfast supply, I think we can be pretty sure it’s not poisoned. Pretty safe bet.” Every bit as good as it had smelled, the bacon gave Einar an instant boost in energy and warmth, and when the raven returned with two more slices--generous bird, he must think I’m part of his family, or something--he finished them gladly, making sure to give Muninn bits of each.

“Ok, time to get going now. They’ve already got a pretty good lead on us, and I don’t want to have to rush this thing too much, get careless trying to catch up to them. Don’t know who they are, what they are--except for Kilgore, of course--but got to assume they’re experienced trackers and woodsmen with a good sense of what they’re looking for and a good bit of experience in terrain like this…not necessarily a good assumption, considering some of the folks I’ve encountered up here during the course of this search, but it’s always a mistake to underestimate one’s enemies, don’t you think?”

The raven just tilted his head, blinked his still, black eyes at Einar and took off, circling the camp before soaring up and over the timbered slope onto which the men had disappeared. Einar followed, circling high up the slope so as to avoid joining the woods anywhere near where the men had and then paralleling the trail but not using it, keeping a sharp eye out for anything the team might have left behind while moving at a good pace in his attempt to bring them once more within range. Of his eyesight, at least. He’d thought about doing more than observing, of course, considered stalking them until the terrain was favorable, getting them firmly within atlatl range and eliminating the threat altogether, but the thought had been a fleeting one and none too wise, he was pretty sure, as it seemed unlikely the men would be doing much real damage while under Kilgore’s guidance, had, if anything, more to fear from him than Einar, judging by the past exploits of the man while working for, with or near various elements of the search. Unless… Einar shook his head, didn’t want to entertain the idea, but knew he had to. Unless he’s gone and turned on you and really does intend to lead these fellows up to the cabin at some point, keep them hidden and waiting in the woods while he approaches and draws you out, gets you talking and at ease while he leads you right into their trap, and then it’d all be over … But he didn’t believe it, told himself that if any such had been Kilgore’s intention, surely he would have made his move during breakfast, while he and the two men were all but sitting on his head as they ate. Surely the tracker had been aware of his presence at that point, or had at least suspected it. His actions said so, as--Einar was pretty sure--did his words.

There. He’d caught up to them, saw a flash of movement from down below and went to ground, peering out from beneath a fallen aspen and watching as one of the younger men attached something to a tree, running a strap around behind its trunk and using what sounded very much like Velcro to secure it at the front. Too far away to make out exactly what the device might be Einar wished very much for the binoculars, which he’d left back at the cabin with Liz when he’d set out to conceal the cache, squinting and dodging to get a better look through the timber. A camera, he supposed. Or something similar. They were certainly putting a good bit of effort into watching that particular area, and he wondered what had caused them to focus on it, specifically. Perhaps, he thought, it was as simple as the fact that a major creek ran along the bottom of the valley there, and the slope on which they were working represented an easy approach to that creek if one was coming from the high country above, providing a relatively gentle path between bands of cliffs that would otherwise turn the trek into a major effort. Which meant that they suspected him to be somewhere in the area, somewhere near enough that the creek represented a tempting destination for him, and though a good distance from the basin and cabin--he would never have actually considered that portion of the creek a sensible spot to visit, living where they did, though it was most decidedly drawing his attention at the moment, as he’d had nothing to drink since sometime the day before, and was growing terribly dry and thirsty--that was all just a bit too close for comfort. Something must have tipped them off, drawn them to the general area and he remembered hearing one of the younger men say something about suspicious sightings, smoke and other things being reported, and it worried him, though clearly they did not have a particularly accurate fix on the exact location of those sightings, if they had anything to do with him and Liz and the cabin. Watching the three of them through the timber, he knew it was his job to make sure it stayed that way.

Comments from 17 October

Nancy1340 said...

Anyway thanks FOTH. I'm betting Bud will manage to leave some helpful goodies for E to find and take back to his and Liz's.

Hope so!

Philip said...

Hey, glad your back Chris, was the Out Back cold?

I solved my RV's heat issue, with a small $25 heater.

Now, If Miss Cleo can be trained to turn it off, at Oh Dark Thirty, things will be great!

philip

Now that would really be something, if you could train the cat to turn off the heater…better be careful though, because if she’s ever mad at you for some reason (not enough tuna in her diet, etc, etc, cats can be vengeful, scheming creatures…) she might turn it up one night, instead, and roast you in your sleep!

Glad you solved your heat problem in the RV.

Yep, it was cold up there in the high country, just the way I like it. : )

RememberGoliad said...

Nancy, I took your comment to mean that Bud knows E is in the area...sorry if i misunderstood you ;) All I was saying was not only in area but I think Bud knows Einar is laying there a dozen or so feet away!

Yep, I read it that way.

17 October 2011

The men’s breakfast seemed to take forever, Einar lying immobile beneath his mat of evergreen groundcover, breathing slowly and trying very hard not to start shivering while they sat on their fallen log not five yards from him, eating. Muninn, fortunately, appeared far too preoccupied with attempting to secure for himself as many fragments of that feast as possible to bother with Einar in the least or to so much as acknowledge his presence, a trend Einar greatly hoped might continue, as his avenues of retreat were at the moment quite limited should the bird begin making a fuss over him and attract the attention of Kilgore and the others. Quiet as they ate--simply existing at altitude and in the cold can really work up an appetite in folks who aren’t used to such living, and even in those who are, Einar’s hunger-cramping stomach reminded him as he tried to focus his mind on something other than the smell of fried bacon and coal-roasted potatoes and cheese--the three of them conversed quietly as the meal wound down, one of the younger men tossing part of his potato peel to Muninn, who quickly snatched it up and--first glancing carefully about to make sure no one was watching--hid it in a little hollow behind a spruce, which already contained three strips of bacon and a mess kit spoon that the men didn’t even know they were missing.

“Bears or not, I don’t like the odds,” the cook began, rising from his seat and beginning to clean up the breakfast things. “Something’s been tearing down our cameras out there, and it seems too systematic, too thorough to be curious bears. Or hungry ones, even.”

“But we’ve seen the tracks on some of them,” Kilgore countered. “In the mud around the camera sites. Bears, alright. Others may have been coons, some other critter that just couldn’t resist the look of the things, something different to look at and tear apart. Don’t think there’s much to see up in here really, aside from bears. And they’re gonna be hibernating pretty soon.”

“Good. Then they won’t be out here messing with our cameras, and maybe it’ll become more clear what’s going on. Even though we haven’t picked anything up on our cameras or sensors to indicate that he’s in this immediate area, there have just been too many reports of strange sightings, smoke in an odd place here and there, hunters getting a glimpse of something now and then that just doesn’t fit in, and I’m not ready to move on to the next sector until we’ve made a more thorough examination of this one. It’s a big place out here. Lots of spots to hide, but with winter coming that’s bound to get more difficult, weather putting pressure on him, scarcity of game…well, you know what I’m talking about.”

Kilgore did indeed know, was somewhat concerned for the pair in that regard, particularly considering the state Asmundson had been in at their last parting, but of far more concern to him just then was how he was to manipulate his three-man team and ultimately, the wider search into entirely avoiding the danger area. He had a number of ideas, hoped very much as he sat finishing the last bites of his breakfast that one or more of them might provide the measure of success demanded by the situation.

Waiting in his barely-adequate hiding place beneath the evergreen mat, Einar could not help but think the men seemed to be taking a very long time getting going that morning, laying all sorts of electronic equipment out on a small tarp and inspecting it, making adjustments here and there before beginning to stash it away securely in packs, moving on to another pile of the stuff and starting all over again, and all that time Einar waited, watching, catching as much of the conversation as he could and trying to prevent his mind wandering into less useful areas of thought… Kilgore. The man’s presence raised almost inevitably memories of their last meeting, of the things discussed and…done at that time, and Einar wished very much that he might not have been reminded of it all, not just then. Not on that day.

He only knew for sure which day it was in the first place because of Liz’s insistence on marking the passage of days, keeping track of the date with her improvised calendar--an effort that she insisted had more to do with knowing when, approximately, the baby ought to be expected than it did with maintaining some frail tie to civilization, though he believed it to be both--but the growing sense of unease which he had been experiencing for the past days, a certain press of memory and time and a raw, choking dread that no amount of years seemed entirely able to mitigate would have heralded for him the approach of that time, even without the calendar. Most years he had been able to glance at the thing, push it aside and keep on with whatever he had been doing, had forced himself at first to do so until it became unshakable habit but something had changed during his time on the run, the careful walls he’d built around that part of his past crumbling somewhat and with his partial telling of the thing to Liz and then to Kilgore, the memories had come back in full force, details he hadn’t even known he remembered becoming a part of his daily existence and haunting his dreams until at times he hardly dared allow himself sleep.

Now here it was the middle of October again, the time when, so many years before, he’d made his escape from the vile, stinking confinement of the cramped bamboo enclosure in which his captors had spent so many days doing their level best to extract from him information he hadn’t even possessed--and a good bit that he had, too, but they hadn’t got it from him, hadn’t got anything they could use--and he should for all practical purposes have died in there, died the way that kid Andy had the week after he’d left of starvation and lack of water and the sheer weight of the treatment they’d been enduring. But he hadn’t. Which ought to make this a happy time, he supposed; he had, after all, lived, had successfully escaped against all odds and somehow pressed his broken body into carrying him day after day while he evaded and made it back--eventually, barely; it had been a near thing and the effort had almost cost him his life, compromised as he had already been by the long days spent enjoying the finest hospitality his captors had to offer--to friendly territory. A hollow victory, and he wanted to go back there, suddenly wanted it so badly he could smell the place, its smothering stink enveloping him, searing his lungs and the bile rising at the back of his throat at the familiar feeling of those hard bamboo ridges pressed painfully up against the unprotected slats of his ribs and then his limbs were drawn back behind him and up, the position cutting off most of his air and leaving all of his joints after a time in a white-hot screaming agony that made him want to scream, too, but he didn’t, bit his tongue until the blood came and kept quiet because this time he wanted it, all of it, had to do it all over again because only in the doing was there any hope of setting things right, seeing them come out differently one way or another, and this time he would endure, wouldn’t go anywhere, would keep it up until the last, until…

Beginning to get lost, losing himself and knowing it was terribly dangerous to go down that road while in the presence of his enemies, lying practically in their camp, Einar badly needed to turn his mind another direction but it was seeming a bit late for that as he found himself already covered in sweat, shaking, struggling for breath and fully in the grip of the thing, needing so badly to get up and move that he felt his head would burst if he kept still for another moment. Had to keep still though, and he managed it, pressing his face down into the soil until the good damp living smells of the forest floor began to bring him back a bit more fully to the present, and when finally he came out of it and was able to look up at the world with clear eyes he found himself to have grown ferociously cold, wondering a bit frantically just how much time might have passed.

Not much. Not nearly as much as he’d thought, by the looks of things, for the three men still crouched around their tarp down there in camp, sorting, loading, discussing the day’s plans and he breathed a ragged sigh of relief, thank You… Now. No more of this, not until you’re good and far away from here, and from them. For now your focus needs to be on watching these folks, seeing what they intend with all that electronic gear and making sure Kilgore’s got a handle on it…

Comments from 14-16 October

Kellie said...

yay!! it is BUD!!! its gonna be an interesting time!!

It always is…

Nancy1340 said...

We have been on St. Croix for 9 days and I'm just catching up. Thanks FOTH.

Glad you’re back--thanks for reading.

colspt said...

Lead them away Bud. Drop some useful information on Einar while while you're within earshot too.

Hopefully Einar will be able to gain some useful information from this…

RememberGoliad said...

Are you kidding, Nancy? Bud knows precisely where Einar is, and has known all morning, I expect. Wouldn't put it past him (Bud) to have known that Muninn is E's companion, too. Guy's creepy smart. E is lucky to have Bud on HIS side.

Does seem likely Bud has a good idea that Muninn is not your average wild raven.

Thank you all for your patience--it was good to be up in the high country for a few days. Here are some photos.

15 October 2011

Heading out this morning, so there won't be a chapter for a few days.

Thank you all very much for reading, and hope you have a good weekend!

~FOTH

14 October 2011

Muninn did not care about the potential sensors that might be placed around that camp, guarding it, ready to alert its inhabitants to any attempted intrusion, nor did he place much value on stealth. He just wanted more of that bacon, and was determined to get it. Sailing down over Einar’s head and letting out a greeting as he passed--quiet, you fool bird, or you’re gonna get us both killed--he floated boldly into camp, hopping silently up to the fire and giving the man beside it a hard peck in the side of the leg. Startled, the man drew a pistol--never even leaving the low crouch in which he’d been tending the fire--and whirled about on the bird, a move that led to bits of suppressed laughter from his companions and a cold feeling in the pit of Einar’s stomach. Definitely not looking much like elk hunters… The man cursed, tucked the pistol back into his waistband and rose, swatting at the raven with a burnt-ended stick and scowling in the direction of his companions, muttering something that Einar could not begin to pick up from his distant spot of concealment. Seeing that the men were distracted, thoroughly absorbed in poking fun at their over-zealous cook and tossing bits of food to the raven, Einar recognized his opportunity and eased forward, still wary of the possibility that the camp was somehow guarded but needing very badly to close the distance just a bit, just enough that he might be able to make out some of what the men were saying, get a better idea of their purpose there in his mountains.

Stalking down through the timber, sometimes on hands and knees and occasionally moving at a careful crouch--wasn’t working too well, legs cramping badly after his time lying still on the cold ground, but he kept at it--Einar slowly drew nearer the camp, worming his way in beneath a ground-creeping mat of evergreen that skirted around its upslope edge, heart pounding too loudly in his ears to hear much of the conversation, even though definitely now near enough to do so. Lying flat on his stomach and taking big, deliberate breaths in an attempt to increase his oxygen and get his hearing back he used the time to make a visual survey of the camp, seeing that the cook and his companion were rather young-looking fellows, not quite at home in the woods from the way they carried themselves but certainly possessed of a certain degree of wariness and awareness that separated them from the typical untrained hiker, camper or once-per-year hunter one might encounter that time of year. The third occupant of the camp was older, moved a bit stiffly but with great confidence and Einar wished he might get a better look at the man’s face, which was obscured by a wide-brimmed boonie hat that he’d pulled down over his watch cap, until it nearly covered his eyes. Man wouldn’t cooperate though, wouldn’t turn towards him and then before Einar could do anything about it the man was a good bit closer than he would have wished, both of them were, the two who weren’t doing the cooking, approaching and taking seats on a log not at all far from him, backs to him but far too close for comfort. And still he hadn’t got a good look at the older man, as he’d been too busy pressing his face into the ground as they approached, trying to keep hidden.

Breakfast was still cooking and Muninn wouldn’t let the issue go, kept hopping closer, dodging the cook as he tried to secure himself an additional taste of breakfast. Einar couldn’t blame him; the stuff smelled awfully good, but he was concerned for the raven, worried that the men might tire of his intrusion and do him some harm. Which they did not appear particularly inclined to do, but the thing that came next worried Einar even more, left him pressing himself into the ground, digging his fingers down into the fragrant spruce-scented earth as if to disappear into it.

“Bold bird, isn’t it? Almost like it’s accustomed to robbing human camps, which seems a little odd, way up here…” The two younger men exchanged knowing glances, nodding, looking pleased with themselves as if they’d just made some great discovery, and Einar did not like it at all. Had his suspicions as to what they might mean and he wanted out, was ready to be up and away from the camp but there was a bit of a problem; he’d worked his way in too close, risked detection if he rose to go before the men moved from their log-seat, so he kept still, hoping very strongly Muninn wouldn’t notice him there, take a notion to hop over and say “hello.” Or bring him more bacon.

“Aw, you’d be surprised,” the older man chimed in, “just how fancy some of them elk camps can get up in here. Outfitters coming up a month ahead of time just to scout and set up and get things all ready for their clients, and they eat well, too. Cook up quite a feast most nights, so it doesn’t much surprise me that a could get used to that life, start hanging around camps. Smart fellow, I’d say.”

“Same ‘smart fellow’ who’s been getting into our remote camera sites and tearing them up, do you think?” It was the cook asking, back to the fire, sizzling bacon momentarily forgotten, Muninn edging closer, steeling himself to brave the flames and snatch a slice. “Because the damage we’ve been seeing sure doesn’t look to me like it could have been caused by any bird.”

“Must be the bears. Bears this time of year, they’ll eat practically anything, you know, getting ready for hibernation. Try to eat it, anyway. Why, I was on a job up north of here one fall, and down in the town there was this popcorn cart--more like a wagon, really--where they sold popcorn, snacks, hot cocoa and such on one of the street corners…well, one night a bear got into that thing when it was all closed up, tore open one of the panels where they stored the food and by all accounts that crazy critter ate the entire contents of a fifty pound sack of cocoa they had in there…guess they found him in the bushes not far away the next morning, real sick and sluggish and covered in brown powder--ha! Chocolate covered bear!--but with a smile on his furry face. So it don’t surprise me too much that we’ve had a bear crunching on some of our cameras and such. Bound to lose a few that way, and that’s why I just couldn’t let you boys come up here alone on this one, not with the hills all full of hibernation-crazed bears just lookin’ to take a bite out of someone. Not safe. It’s one of the least safe times of year up here, avalanche season excepted, of course, and that’s even without the possible presence of a certain human critter who shall for the moment remain nameless, but even if he is lurking around here somewhere, our biggest dangers come from the environment, really. From coming out here unprepared and expecting the place to conform to our needs and desires…it’s the biggest mistake a fella can make out here, you know? Failing to properly respect the mountains, falling into the mistaken notion that nature gives a darn, ’cause it doesn’t. Nope, we’re on our own out here, and better not forget it.”

Einar shook his head, shivered at the chill of the ground that was beginning to sink into his bones, the slightest hint of a twisted grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he rested his forehead on the soil. Hibernation-crazed bears? Right… He recognized that booming voice, wondered how Bud Kilgore had managed to get himself assigned to this particular surveillance and scouting crew. And why…

13 October 2011

Liz had not really expected to see Einar back by dark, not the way he’d kept hinting that the trip might take a good bit longer than she was anticipating, but still she hoped, found herself venturing out into the clearing more than once after dusk to stand beside the largest of the lichen-covered granite boulders, listening, waiting, but hearing only the wind in the trees. The evening was clear and achingly cold, stars beginning to show still and unblinking through the timber tops, partially obscured by the rising clouds of her breath, and she drew the sheepskin cloak a bit closer around her shoulders, hoped Einar was keeping himself warm out there. And eating. Her portion of the supper she had enjoyed with relish, excited about the success of one of her first bread-baking experiments on the new stove. The lily fritters had been a simple flat bread for which she had pounded and rubbed dried lily roots between two rocks until they became a fairly fine powder, picking out some of the fibers but leaving most to add bulk to the flour. Lacking the eggs she would have liked to stir into the mixture she had satisfied herself with adding bits of water and melted bear fat, stirring until she had something resembling a sticky dough. This dough she had patted into flat cakes with her hands, placing them on the hot surface of the stove and flipping them now and then until they began taking on a nice brown color. The resulting cakes were rather crumbly and dry but pleased Liz nonetheless, for they tasted starchy and satisfying and she knew the texture could be adjusted by the addition of more water and fat.

When sliced in half and spread with bear fat and honey, she found the cakes particularly delightful and hoped Einar, in his travels, would do the same. Her hope in thus experimenting was to come up with a formulation that they both enjoyed, practice several times making them and then try her hand at collecting wild yeast and making a high country version of sourdough. Though their location and situation made grains a nearly non-existent part of their diet, they had collected a good quantity of starchy roots of one kind or another, and could indulge in the occasional treat of bread or ash cakes. Liz had heard of using the white powder that collected on the bark of many aspen trees as a starter for wild sourdough; Einar had, in fact, mentioned doing such while living at his cabin years ago before all the trouble started--said the powder naturally contained and nurtured some form of wild yeast, as did the similar waxy coating on the berries of the Oregon grape plant whose roots they so valued for the making of their berberine preparations--and she wished she had asked him to describe the process in more detail. No matter. She could ask him when he returned. Which--shivering; time to go in for the night--she hoped would be soon. Important as was the placing of that cache, they had a good bit to do in and around the cabin still in preparation for winter--wood to haul, walls to finish chinking against the wind, snow pants, mittens and boots to construct, as well as Einar’s parka, which she supposed she would be doing herself, as he had so far shown little interest in the matter, painstakingly sewing her baby carrying garment and then, apparently, considering the job finished--and she hated to think of him arriving back after several days of wandering in the high country, likely as not hungry and exhausted, and having to return immediately to the work of the season. Which she knew he’d insist on doing; rest seemed not to be a part of his vocabulary, unless it was literally forced upon him by circumstances.

Well. She had plenty to do, herself, and would in the doing pray for his safe and speedy return. Wasn’t much else she could do, really. Returning to the cabin she barred the door. Einar wouldn’t likely be returning that night, it was seeming, and if he did, he could knock. She didn’t care for the idea of a late-for-hibernation bear deciding to join her inside for a bit of a midnight snack, as one might decide to do if it came along and found the door in an easily moveable state. Speaking of a midnight snack, the idea sounded pretty good to her, and though it was still hours from midnight she broke a few pieces of jerky into the pot in which she’d been simmering the bones of their last two rabbits all evening, enriching the broth with bits of bear fat and dried nettles and making herself a quick bit of soup. Wished Einar was there to share it with her and prayed, as she readied herself for bed--had to try for some sleep; the baby needed it--that he would find his way safely through the night, wherever he might be.

· · · ·

Easing his way through the trees, Einar took up a position behind a low rise of granite, eight or nine inches only of cover but it was enough; he was able to make himself very flat, and did, inching forward until he was looking down at the camp, dodging and ducking his head to get a view through the small breaks in the timber. The camp was a modest setup, a single black dome tent standing amongst the spruces and a stone fire ring not far from it, carefully placed--a detail which did not escape Einar’s notice--beneath the most densely-boughed tree of the bunch as if with the intention of seeing its smoke dispersed before it ever reached the sky. A familiar tactic, and its use added to Einar’s growing unease. The place looked a good deal more like something he might have himself set up than it did a typical elk camp. He saw at first only one man, a short fellow in a camouflage jacket and green wool watch cap who crouched bent over the fire, facing it, doing something with the breakfast, the smells of which reached Einar more strongly than ever and would have left him quite literally drooling, had not his senses been entirely occupied in searching for further danger, just then.

Having heard voices from his vantage above the camp, he strongly doubted that the man was alone there, scanning the nearby woods for any sign of further human presence, scalp prickling at the thought that the second man might already know he was there, might even then be working his way in above with a firearm or--worse, far worse--a dart gun with which to neutralize him, leave him floundering helplessly on the ground while they came in and took him, and the possibility very nearly sent him scrambling to his feet to take off running at his top speed into the timber but he forced himself to keep still, and the moment of panic passed as he had known it would do. Still, silent, watching, Einar kept thinking he heard something from the slope opposite the camp, a faint rustling in the brush and he focused in on the area, catching little glimpses here and there of movement, a hint of color that did not belong, patches of green not quite the green of the spruces behind which it seemed intent on concealing itself and the next moment the figure rose, revealed itself and was joined by another.

So. Three men. Down at the fire the first appeared still thoroughly preoccupied with his breakfast duties, the other two--similarly dressed, camouflage and watch caps--had paused in their descent to the camp and were quietly conversing over a small black box that appeared to Einar to have an antenna, and he expected it might be related in some way to the fragment of broken electronic circuitry the raven had brought to him. Wished he could make out what the men were saying, but they were too far away, and then they stowed the device, walking down into camp and sitting around the fire, ready for their breakfast. Much as Einar wanted to make his way closer and have a listen, he hardly dared do so, not knowing just what sort of sensors they might have protecting the camp. Needed to spend more time observing before he made a move, get a better sense of the place and the men, what sort of threat they might represent to himself and his family up in the basin, and exactly how active he might need to be in neutralizing that threat.