Mountain Refuge

[FOTH]

Feb 20, 2013 17:02:04 GMT -6 EdD270 said:

The high ground indeed, and in more ways than merely topography.
What's up with the morons in Colorado's legislature?

Glad to see EA, Liz and the baby are finally someplace safe where they can really rest and recover. If they will.
Still looking forward to Susan's former husband's mysterious friend to make another appearance. He seems to be quite a guy, be a nice addition to the team. Feels like he's around close, some where, watching, evaluating.

Yes, the "other Bill." Perhaps he will re-appear, at some point... Hard to tell, with him.

The morons in our legislature were elected by people in the urban population centers of Denver and Boulder. If we could somehow evict those two cities, Colorado would be a pretty decent, sensible conservative state.

Feb 20, 2013 18:58:12 GMT -6 icefire said:

Beautiful pictures, FOTH! Thanks for sharing them with us.
I'm thinking y'all have a whole BUNCH of politicians there who need to be retired. Too many Commifornia liberals have infiltrated your state, I'm thinking!

Now that Einar and family are safely stowed at Susan's, maybe Einar can FINALLY start to heal, and hopefully get some much-needed weight on his frame. He's probably looking about like a walking skeleton these days.

Wonder how long it'll take Munnin to catch up with them?

Probably won't be long before Muninn is tapping at the windows, wondering where his people have gone...

Yes, Einar could certainly stand to gain a few pounds. Maybe even few dozen.


Thank you all for reading!

[FOTH]

The garage was more or less alright, basement might have been acceptable, even—though Susan seemed little inclined to invite them down there, leaving the door shut—but Einar would not enter the house. Didn’t want Liz or Will to go either, but when he tried communicating this to Liz, his words came out all scrambled and barely intelligible. She thought he was saying something about not yet being ready to go in there where the lights were brighter, draped a wool blanket around his shoulders and told him it was alright, she’d be right back for him as soon as she’d got Will settled. Frustrated but not blaming her, he let them go. Quiet in there. Clamped his jaw in an attempt to silence the occasional rattling of his own teeth, have a better listen. Couldn’t hear much of anything for the loudness of his own shivering breaths, and for a time he devoted his entire attention to breathing himself still. It worked. Still awfully cold, but the shivering had, for the time, ceased. He knew it would come back. Had better come back… Footsteps in the hall, door to the garage opening, and this time it was Kilgore.

“What’s your trouble, Asmundson? Lived in a cave for so long that you can’t stand the light? Come on now, your kid’s already got the house explored up and down, Sue’s got supper in the oven and your lady’s wondering where you are.”

“Didn’t live in a cave. Light’s not a problem. More concerned about who might be listening in there, watching, even…”

“Oh now of all the ridiculous and insulting things…are you kidding, man? With me living her at this place now, you better believe it gets swept real regularly for anything they might be using to watch, listen or otherwise pry, including just a few hours ago when I stopped home before heading back up the hill for you folks. Place is clean. Now come on in, before you finish freezing. Don’t know if your Lizzie happened to bring her war club or not, but I figure she’d find one of Sue’s iron skillets a real suitable substitute, if it came down to it. So I got to at least get you in there alive. What happens after…well, that’s up to you.”

Einar rose, went with the tracker. Had already trusted him with the truck ride, why not go all the way? Liz was already in there, the little one…if anything was to happen, he wanted to be beside them to meet it. Susan greeted him as he went through the kitchen—making her best effort not to let it show, the alarm, the horror, almost, with which she met his greatly altered appearance, extent of his emaciation rather more visible than it had been in the dimness of the cabin upon her last visit—wonderful, warm smells of baking bread and something involving ham, cheese and mustard meeting him at the same time.

The smells made Einar dizzy. Or maybe it was the warmth, but either way, he had to blink hard and squint at the floor in order to keep his bearings. Carefully looking up, he saw that Will was, indeed, wasting no time taking in his new surroundings, presently exploring with great fascination the many-hued patterns of one of Susan’s patchwork quilts, which she’d spread on the floor for him. Winter child, yet to live through the brilliantly-flowering ecstasies of his first high country spring, he’d never seen so much color. Seeing that her guest was swaying, appearing ready to fall, Susan quickly guided him to a chair near Liz and the little one.

“Welcome, Einar. After all the times we’ve visited your home, it’s a great honor to have you here in ours.”

“Yours is bigger.”

“Maybe, but your little place is no less a home. Now get warm, make yourself at home, and supper will be ready in a bit.”

Liz looked different in the lamplight, Will a good deal larger, somehow, as if he’d done some growing on the descent from the basin, which having observed the way he was eating, sleeping and changing lately, Einar did not really doubt… Watching them, Liz pointing out different cloth-patterns and observing in delight as Will studied each new discovery with a rapt fascination equal to that which he’d bestowed on the golden radiance of the beaver hide that time back at the cabin, it was difficult not to feel somewhat at home, even in these unfamiliar surroundings. Getting warm was another matter. Cold though he knew he must be, the warmth was making him sleepy, and he did not like the feeling. Wanted it to stop.

The stove, centrally located in the living room, kept the place cozy, but it wasn’t overly warm, and as in most houses heated with wood, one could escape a good deal of the warmth by moving farther from the stove, which Einar did, finding himself a corner against an outside wall and taking a position there on a dining room chair, bolt upright, back to the wall, rifle propped between his knees, entire room spread before him, appearing patient, resigned, in it for the long haul. He couldn’t quit shivering, which bothered him not in the least, but to the others it seemed a lot worse there in the glowing lamplight than it had in the dimness of the cabin, a lot more like something that had to be dealt with, stopped, and Susan, who had joined them as she waited for the supper to finish baking, was sure she knew just the thing.

Will, curious about the lively designs on Susan’s apron—watermelons, tomatoes and pumpkins, dancing in a riotous display of color all about its edges—had temporarily pulled himself away from the quilt and was crawling for her almost at a gallop. She waited for him to close the distance, picked him up, happy when he seemed little disturbed at her presence, almost as if he remembered her. “How about I keep the little guy for a while so you two can go have a shower? Get cleaned up a little before the meal, warm up a little better.”

Liz thought that sounded like a splendid idea but Einar—amongst other reservations—was very reluctant to leave little Will, as he couldn’t help but think someone might well come while they were away, take their boy and they’d never see him again… But finally Liz’s quiet assurances won out—Susan and Bud were there, would protect him as if he was their own, and besides, they would only be in the next room, would hear if there was any trouble—and he followed her. Insisted on taking the rifle, leaning it in the corner nearest the tub.

The warm water made Einar dizzy. He didn’t like it. Liz, thinking at first that he was simply being stubborn and probably would have liked to stand beneath a stream of ice water, instead, insisted that he stay as she cleaned from him some of the accumulated grime of the journey, gentle as possible with the avalanche-bruises and lamenting over the raw, angry spots where his un-cushioned vertebra had worn ragged sores in the skin wherever his pack had touched his back—or his back contacted the ground in sleep. Wanting to keep Einar in there until he was well and thoroughly warm, Liz relented after his nearly passing out a third time from the effects of the warm water, deciding stubbornness wasn’t his only problem or perhaps even his most pressing one at the moment, and helping him out of the tub. A good deal cleaner than he’d been upon entering the shower, if nowhere near warm, Einar huddled shivering in a towel on the bathroom rug while she finished washing her hair.

They changed into the clean clothes Susan had set out for them, Einar stringing a length of paracord through the belt loops on the jeans, sliding his sheath knife into place and cinching the cord down tight in an attempt to hold the pants up, mostly succeeding and hurrying well as he could with bruised ribs and shoulder to get into the tightly woven olive drab wool sweater that had been left for him.. Stopped halfway through, set it aside. Too complicated. Couldn’t figure it out His buckskin vest he kept, though waiting to put it on until he’d got the sweater squared away. refusing to put it aside with the rest of the laundry. Had to hang onto a little piece of home. Real dizzy. Struggling to keep his place in the world, he focused on Liz, who was combing out her freshly washed hair. Didn’t help much, face and hands beginning to prickle, go numb, blackness welling up before him, and he would have fallen had it not been for Liz’s quick action, lowering him to the floor. Just then Susan knocked, carrying little Will on her hip as she entered to Liz’s invitation. Seeing Einar there on the floor, chin on his knees and arms drooping at his sides, Susan gave Liz a glance of questioning and concern.

“Not going so well?” She released Will, who immediately began exploring the large, slate-tiled bathroom, went to a cupboard and took out a black zippered case.

“Einar, I’d like to check your blood pressure, temperature, things like that real quick if you don’t mind. Will you let me do that?”

That got him back to his feet in a hurry, back against the wall and an angry, trapped animal look in his eyes, and he wanted to adamantly refuse, probably would have, but for Liz’s restraining hand on his arm. “Please. Let her do it…”

[icefire]

Undoubtedly, EInar's is hypothermic, and his blood pressure is probably way below normal, as well....probably UNDER 80/50. I'm sure his heartbeat is rather eratic, as well.

[FOTH]

Little point in refusing, Einar realized, though this was exactly what he wanted to do. It wasn’t as if Susan—and Liz, for that matter—were not already aware of his situation, so there was little to conceal, to protect in making a strong objection to the thing Susan was asking and Liz so strongly urging. So, why not assent, if it would make her happy? He could name plenty of reasons, actually, not least amongst them the utter intrusiveness of the entire thing, the fact that it made him feel trapped, angry, made him want to flee without further delay from this place where the lights were too bright, the warmth made him dizzy and there was too much to look at, back to the good clean frigid silence of the basin…

But he could not flee, not with Liz and the little one down here and the storm ended, nothing to cover their tracks, so he nodded, got to his feet. And saw himself in the mirror for the first time. Dead man walking, sunken spaces between all his ribs, lumps and bumps and bones showing clearly through skin that appeared stretched tightly and then shrunken into place by heat, desication or maybe both, entire torso a strange, mottled mix of purple, yellow and grey from bruises in various stages of coming or going, legs looking much the same—chronic anemia will do that to a fellow…as will avalanches; the two are not a particularly good combination—upper arms withered and worked away to nothing, shoulders sharp, hollow and eyes al sunkenl into his head… He blinked, but the image did not go anywhere. Couldn’t actually be himself that he was seeing. He wasn’t that far gone. No way. The man in the mirror ought not even be able to keep on his feet by the looks of him, yet he, himself had just descended miles of rough, steep timber, survived an avalanche and… World swimming around him, and he had to catch himself, bracing both hands on the edge of the counter lest he fall.

Liz knew he’d agreed to the check simply to make her happy, but she was happy nonetheless, figured he needed a good solid dose of reality to help him get started in the right direction—assuming he would pay it any mind, which was a big assumption—but she could that he would clearly rather be anywhere but there, in Bud and Susan’s big bathroom, bare feet strange and uncomfortable on the unfamiliar softness of the forest green rug in front of the sink before he stepped onto the scale at Susan’s urging, 66, not a good number, not for a living man of six-foot-one who wished to stay very long amongst the living, and when she guided him over to a chair to check his blood pressure, he did not put up much of an objection. Didn't have the energy for it.

Teeth chattering. Couldn’t stop them. Susan put a towel around his shoulders, but it didn’t help. The cuff wouldn’t fit. Wouldn’t go small enough on his arm to get an accurate reading, so she said, and eventually she gave up trying. He was relieved. Didn’t really want to be further inspected, life struggle reduced to a series of numbers which Susan and Kilgore and to some extent even Liz, though all likely doing so respectfully and without giving him too much grief about it, would scrutinize and analyze and from which they would draw conclusions about him…

It wasn’t that simple and he didn’t like it, didn’t want it, wanted very badly, in fact, to be back in the vast and wild world of the high country refuge which had shielded him for the past years and in which he felt himself safe, protected…wanted to go home, where none of this really mattered. Where a man kept going simply because he must, because he had no other choice, because his family was depending on him. Instead, after a quick check of his temperature—low enough that Susan wondered how he was actually managing to function even as well as he appeared to be, figured that the human body must be more adaptable than she had realized—and heart rate, he was led out into Susan’s kitchen. There, he was given a seat near the stove and plied, all dazed-eyed and droopy, with food that he could not quite have figured out how to eat even had that really been his intention, baked ham, mashed potatoes, fresh-from-the-oven bread and some sort of green juice that he really did want to try, because it smelled so good, clean, alive….

Next thing he knew he was waking up on the floor all tangled up with a fallen kitchen chair, Liz kneeling over him and Susan crouched beside her, trying without success to jam a spoonful of something sticky and sweet in between his clenched teeth, and he fought them, turning away, attempting to rise and glancing about frantically for some sight of little Will, wanting to make sure he was alright, but he couldn't see much of anything and dizziness prevented him getting very far and then Kilgore was there, too, a flurry of words he couldn’t quite interpret, and the man’s knee was on his chest, heavy, pressing, crushing the ribs that had been bruised in the slide, couldn’t get a breath.

“Cool it, man. We’re all friends here. These gals’re just trying to keep you among the living, Ok? Keep you conscious. Need a little sugar, that’s all. Something to keep your brain going.”

Einar stopped struggling, mumbled something about why didn’t they just tell me, took the spoon and ate the honey as he worked to disentangle his legs from those of the chair that had fallen with him. Grinning sheepishly as he got to his feet and set the chair aright, Einar nodded at the tracker, at Susan.

"There's a reason, ma'am, why it's best I remain as an outdoor critter. Just not civilized enough to be in the house, looks like. Hope I haven't caused any harm to your chair..."

"Oh, forget the chair! It'll be just fine. What about you? Did it do any harm to you?"

"Me? Oh, no, not me. Take a lot more than a little chair to..." Dizzy again, legs collapsing under him, but he wouldn't give in, must not, remained rigidly standing until Susan took him by the arm and steered him over to the couch where Liz was sitting.

"You're plenty civilized to be here in the house, so far as I'm concerned. You just need something to eat. Sit here for a minute until you get your balance again, and then we'll all have supper."

[icefire]

Well, with MIRRORS in Susan's house, maybe Einar will FINALLY realize just how far gone he really is!

[EdD270]

Amazing how adept we humans are at ignoring reality, right up until we are confronted with it unavoidably and unmistakably. Older folks thinking and acting as if they are much younger, confused at why their body don't respond as it used to, as they expect it to. Seriously malnourished and physically spent folks wondering why they can't do what they did years ago when they were well-fed and healthy. He-men in their own minds, unaware of reality.
Glad EA has finally gotten a taste of his true situation. Maybe he will begin to be more cooperative and exercise some personal initiative to get himself back to where he has thought he still was.

[FOTH]

No chapter for tonight, been busy and not at the house much, but will have one for tomorrow.

Thanks for reading.

[FOTH]

Bud and Liz thoroughly enjoyed Susan’s big home-cooked meal after their long, cold days on the trail, Einar doing his best with a few bites of ham and some sips of the thick green juice she’d made from ¬¬broccoli sprouts, pineapple and banana, wonderfully refreshing, and though it made him want more, he knew he must be cautious. Unlike with the largely meat diet on which they had all subsisted in the high country, there was enough starchy food there on the table—on his own plate, even, for Susan had served him—to send him right into a bad episode of the same unfortunate trouble he’d encountered that winter at Liz’s when he’d eaten the entire loaf of bread after weeks of very scant rations. Body unable to compensate for such a rapid change from subsisting on its own protein to largely burning carbohydrates again for fuel, things had got all unbalanced, resulting in a crippling and progressive muscle weakness which had affected his legs, respiratory system, even his ability to swallow, and had nearly done him in before he’d managed to get it turned around.

Sure didn’t need that again, especially not just then when he must be more alert and ready than ever to meet the dangers which were all but certain to arise with such close contact with civilization. Would be better off, he could not help but think, simply staying as he was, getting by on next to nothing and—he now had to admit—doing an increasingly poor job of it, than risking such paralysis, which would surely be worse this time than it had been the last. Liz, while having no intention of letting him go on as he had been, also knew the dangers of his having too much of the wrong things too soon, so did not too strongly push the issue, simply urging him to keep at drinking the juice and having a bite of ham here and there. Will, for his part, seemed perfectly contented to sit on Liz’s lap and sample bits of everything that came his way, delightedly remarking at the newness and wonder of it all.

Full darkness outside, blinds drawn, and though Einar wanted to have a look outside, he dared not frame himself in one of those windows. Needed to get outside, have a look around the place, and when Kilgore tried hard to dissuade him—the less exposure the better, sit tight her for a while, especially with me having just brought Juni down—he immediately took that as a sign that the tracker was working for the other side, seeking to entrap them. Of course he’d want them to sit complacently inside, not risk the possibility that they might discover the teams which were likely even now being put into place… Einar shook his head, scrutinized the tracker for any sign of guilt. Not that he would give any. He was too good for that.

You’re being ridiculous, Einar. Can trust these folks, and had better start giving it a real honest try, or these are gonna be some mighty long days, while you’re down here. Look at Liz. He doesn’t’ have any doubts, or no way would she let Will crawl about like that, nearly out of her sight and definitely beyond arms’ reach… She feels safe here. Yeah. But she hasn’t been all the places you been, is just glad to be amongst friends and may not be looking at the whole picture. You’re anything but safe here, even if Kilgore doesn’t have anything but the best of intentions. If the feds don’t yet know you’re here, they soon will, I should think, and then it may be too late. Can’t stay here. Not much beyond the night, anyhow. But Bud’s right about tonight. Can’t be out and moving, when he’s just returned with Juni. If they suspect him of anything, they’ll really be watching the place now, the approaches, waiting for people to come or go, so all you can really do now is to lie real low and wait.

He didn’t like it, but saw no immediate way around the situation. Best let Liz relax then, catch up on her rest and introduce Will to the civilized world of the valley for a couple of days, the bit of it, at least, contained in Bud and Susan’s good sturdy log house… Stove was warm, Einar beginning to be warm, as well, now that he’d been near it for a while and got some food in him, if still rather less than the others might have liked, and next thing he knew he was dozing, head nodding and a sudden terror seizing him when he woke, certain he must have missed some important event, some clue as to the particular precariousness of their situation. A glance at Liz reassured him that either there had been no such event while he dozed, or that she had missed it, too, no great reassurance, and he scrambled to his feet, taking up a position against one of the great upright beams that supported the half loft above. Liz left Will to his play and joined him, whispering something about sleep, but that was just about all he got out of it, words reaching him all muffled and confusing, and sleep sounded like a very bad idea, indeed. She insisted.

“Bud says he’ll keep watch for a few hours so we can get some sleep. There’s a place all ready for us. Come on now, I think Will’s getting tired.”

Einar saw no sign of this, the little one presently on the gallop from Susan to another of her quilts which she’d laid out for his inspection, moving almost as quickly on hands and knees as he could have done had he been upright, and it appeared that sleep must be the last thing on his mind. Liz insisted though, and after his third time dozing off in as many minutes—just seemed to have lost the ability to stay awake, somehow, and though sleep still seemed like a terrible idea in this strange and threatening place, he knew he’d not be good for much until he’d got some—Einar consented, following Liz as she scooped up the loudly protesting Will and headed up the stairs. Susan followed, bringing the quilt that had so interested Will.

The loft consisted of a large open space where Susan did her quilting, baskets of cloth squares and bolts of material proving an almost irresistible temptation for Will, who also stared in wonder at the black-shiny surface of an old Singer treadle sewing machine that had belonged to Susan’s grandmother and which still saw occasional use in her quilt making. Over to one side was a good sized room enclosed in yellow pine paneling, top open to the slant of the roof but a door giving it some privacy, and into this Susan led Liz and Einar. The room, cheery with the glow of a single lamp on rough walls of yellow pine, was equipped with a bed, table and two chairs, as well as a bookcase as high as the top of the wall, heavy laden with volumes on everything from gardening to military history, one of many such scattered about the house. Opposite the bed stood a dormer window, and beneath this, back to the wall and front to the door, and the stairs, Einar took up his position, rifle resting on his knees and eyes wide open against the possibility of further sleep. Liz deposited Will on the bed to start his exploration of this new place and hopefully begin settling in for sleep, joined Einar on the floor.

“Come sleep for a while. You have to sleep.”

“Yes,” Susan chimed in. We’ll keep an eye on things while you’re out.”

But for a long time he did not leave his post at the window as Susan and Liz watched Will and caught up on various things, curling up now and then for a brief rest on the floor—cold, always just on the edge of shivering, but he liked that, for he knew the shivering would wake him if he dozed for too long—but never in the bed.

“Can’t sleep in a bed,” he explained to Susan when she kept pressing him. “Keeps me from hearing things, feeling…vibrations that come up through the ground, and might alert me to trouble coming. Haven’t slept in a proper bed for several decades, and sure can’t be doing it here, in a house, where layers of wood and carpet and such already separate me from the ground and the mattress and bed frame would only serve to further distance me from any hope I might have of hearing the approach of danger…but I do thank you for the offer, and maybe Lizzie…”

“Oh, this is why you wouldn’t sleep on the air mattress when you were here before, I guess. Down in the basement. Why I found you jammed under the storage shelves in the basement, sleeping on bare concrete, instead.”

“Yep.”

She left, then, assuring them once more that she and Bud would take care of the place for the night so they could get some rest. Liz, who did like the idea of a night spent in a proper bed but knew Einar was telling the truth about his need to have some contact with the ground, the floor, decided not to insist that he join her there for the night, hoping instead that he might relent only for a little while, if he could, just long enough to thaw some of the remaining ice from his bones. And if he fell asleep in the process and didn’t wake until morning…well, no harm done.

“Looks like Will’s asleep for a while, so why don’t you just come in for a little bit, to get warm and to visit before sleep time. It might be a good thing. And besides, I miss your company…” And she all but pulled him into the bed, Einar laughing and making a show of resisting as she pulled the covers up over him and helped him off with his clothes.

“Miss my company, do you? I’m nothing but a sack of bones, Lizzie. Can’t imagine you find me particularly good company in this sort of way, at the moment.”

“Oh,” she traced his collarbone, the sharp, hollow contours of one shoulder, everything sparse, scooped out, skeletal, “you have no idea. You are…beautiful. Your bones are beautiful, the way I can see how everything’s assembled, how it works, fearfully and wonderfully made…”

“Ha! You’re crazy.”

“No, I’m serious.”

“Everything’s messed up. Nothing but scars. Scars over bone.”

“They’re beautiful, too. They mean you lived through it, all of it…” and she took his hands, pressed them to her lips, his wrists where they were crisscrossed with angry purple-white scars, rope burns, some faded, old and nearly invisible, some less so; he closed his eyes, turned away.

[FOTH]

Einar’s rest did not last long, remaining in the bed only until Liz had drifted off into the exhausted sleep of one who has not for many nights had occasion to take advantage of such rest, her breathing deep, regular, relieved. Carefully disentangling himself he left the bed—couldn’t help but smile in the darkness at the memory of Liz and her eagerness to have him join her there—feeling his way with his feet across the polished aspen floor until he stood at an oblique angle to the window, where he squinted out into the darkness. Couldn’t see much, besides the tall, graceful shapes of a number of the spruces which surrounded the house, softly silhouetted in the light of a waning quarter moon and appearing utterly still on that calm, windless night. Was strange to be seeing them while standing in the warmth of that room, separated by walls of wood and glass. The warmth was strange to him, unsettling. Has been an awful long time since he was in a house, and never did summer come so quickly in the high country…

He shivered, chilled and shaky despite the unaccustomed warmth, once more focused his whole attention on the world outside. Wanted to be out there, free in the night air where he could move about, patrol the place and make as certain as possible that they were truly alone, but supposed Kilgore might have something to say about another fellow wandering randomly about his place in the dark, without first informing him. And he might well say it with a three round burst. Best not push that one too far. But he couldn’t keep still, either, couldn’t stand the confinement of the little room—it was different, somehow, than his time spent in the cabin where he knew he was surrounded by thousands of acres of untouched wilderness, though the place itself had been a good deal smaller than their current quarters—and feeling suddenly as though he was hardly able to breathe in that confined space he took the rifle and slipped out the door. Had forgotten his clothes. Went back for them, feeling about in the darkness, somehow managing not to knock anything over and wake Liz.

Quiet darkness out there in the loft, and from below, a rising warmth from the last of the fire in the woodstove. He could feel it on his face as he leaned out over the railing, sampling the air and pressing an elbow sharply into his stomach in an attempt to counteract the gnawing, twisting hints of hunger that began arising at the lingering odor of that baked ham. Hadn’t been particularly hungry earlier, had been too weary and bleary and near unconsciousness to do much eating, in any case, but now he wanted that ham, wanted awfully badly to scurry down the spiral staircase like a furtive wild ermine and raid the refrigerator—or wherever Susan had stashed the stuff—but instead he sat down on the top step, silent, watching, keeping vigil as an hour passed and the warmth from the stove nearly ceased rising. Teeth were chattering again, which wouldn’t do. Not at all. Not when one was keeping watch, listening for the faintest sound which might suggest danger. He shifted position, leaning the rifle on one knee as briefly he wrapped both arms about his torso, trying to find a little warmth. None to be found, and after a long minute he gave up, resigned to letting the shivering do its work for a while. Which it did, but he hadn’t the energy to sustain it, nearly falling asleep with forehead resting on the uprights of the staircase rail, startling awake only at the last minute. None of that. Strange place, couldn’t be sleeping.

A faint light coming from somewhere downstairs, and moving with all the silent grace and poise of a creature of the forest long used to nighttime maneuvers—most of it, anyhow, for he was rather more clumsy and stiff than he would have liked admitting at the moment, and a bit dizzy—he descended the stairs, rifle slung over his shoulder, at the ready.

Quiet down there, no one about, and he slunk quickly from one window to the next, passing them at a low crouch, back to the room as he did his best to spot any threat that might be lurking out there, but seeing nothing. A sigh of relief as he made it past the last of the windows and crouched against a the good solid logs of the wall, scanning the room and seeing—apart from the faint green glow of the clock on the kitchen stove—only darkness. Somewhat reassuring, but he did not want to go back to bed. No way. Had to get outside, but first needed to know where Bud might be, make sure the two of them didn’t end up entangled in a rather unfortunate case of mistaken identity. A sound from down the hall, soft, almost inaudible, and Einar froze, finger on the trigger, ready.

Susan found him that way—eyes wide, wild, and she wasn’t sure he was really seeing her—when the muted beam of the flashlight fell on him; she, too, had heard a sound in the night, had gone to investigate. Fortunately for everyone Einar was seeing her, knew who he was seeing and lowered the rifle as soon as he was absolutely certain that there had been no mistake. Still he did not want to move from his position on the wall, took a good deal longer to respond to Susan’s soft inquiry—is everything alright? Did you hear something?—than he’d intended, and she began to grow a bit worried, turned on a light.

Finally getting to his feet Einar blinked hard in the dimly diffused light from the bulb over the stove, shook his head. “Didn’t hear anything particular. Just checking on things. Sorry if I disturbed you.”

“No, not at all. I was just coming to make a cup of tea. How about if you sit down here and join me?”

Einar shook his head, taking a step back as she opened a cupboard and began taking out Mason jars filled with various dried herbs. No way he was going to fall for that, and as if hearing his thoughts—are they that obvious?—she pulled a fresh, unopened box of teabags from the cupboard, showed it to him. “The herbal stuff I grow is a good bit better, if I do say so myself, but here. This way you’ll know exactly what’s in it. How about that?”

He scrutinized the box, inspecting the plastic and finding it still intact, shoved aside a nagging little voice which told him that of course they would have a special box all prepared, it would be part of the plan to get him to sleep so they could… Nope. Not listening. Not at the moment, anyway. Wasn’t true and he wasn’t listening. Needed something, for sure, if he was going to have any sort of continued success fighting off the dizziness and being ready to defend Liz and the little one, should trouble come.

“Sure, sounds pretty good. Thanks.”

Susan smiled, all the little crinkles at the corners of her eyes smiling with her and seeming further accented by the wreath of tight, silver-dusted dark curls that framed her wise and gentle face so that even Einar was able to recognize that here was somebody who meant it, who was genuinely delighted and who meant no harm. He smiled back, though his came out looking more like a grimace. She forgave him. “Good! Now how about a little of that leftover ham from supper, with it? I could make you a sandwich…”

That was his limit. Had to refuse, and he did, though graciously and gratefully as he was able. Just then there were a series of sounds from the area of the front door that send Einar to his feet again and the rifle to his shoulder, but it was only Bud, returning from his rounds of the property. Einar stayed on his feet as the tracker slid off his boots, lowering himself heavily into one of the kitchen chairs.

“How about we switch places for a while, Kilgore. Got to get some air.”

“Sure, why don’t you take the next watch outside. Just put on this hat…” as he handed him a worn black Stetson, “and my coat so you don’t look so doggone much like yourself, and go for it. Can I have your word though that you won’t go wandering off anywhere too far? And you’ll come back in an hour or two and let me take over, again? This is my place now, mine and Sue’s, and I don’t like the idea of coming out there looking for you later because you been gone too long, and shooting you by accident as an intruder. Got it?”

“Yeah, I got it, and you got my word, too. No wandering too far, and I’ll be back.”

“But your tea…” Susan reminded him. “Why don’t you stay long enough to have your tea, at least? I’ve got it almost ready.”

“Thanks. I’ll have it when I get back.”

With that he was gone, finally breathing a bit easier once he was out in the crisp, cold night air—already on the verge of shivering in Bud’s sheepskin jacket, which he’d left unbuttoned—away from the house and up in the timber where he could look back at things, get some distance and perspective.


Inside, Susan gave Einar’s tea to Bud, offering him a slab of cold apple pie, which he began voraciously devouring. “What are we going to do with him?” she asked. “He has to get some sleep, eventually… And he has to eat.”

“I’ve still got some of them bear darts, if you want me to…”

“Bud! Don’t you dare even think about it!”

“Hey now, just joking. You know I’m joking.”

“Sometimes, I’m not so sure! And besides, that’s not something to be joking about. What if he heard you, and thought…”

“Fella never could take a joke. That’d be the end of me, for doggone sure. Ok. No more joking about that. Don’t know what we can do, in that case. Just got to wait for him to drop from exhaustion, looks like. He’s bound to do it sooner or later, though stubborn and contrary as that fella is, I’m half afraid he might just up and die on us, first. Might actually be able to hold out that long, and if he can, he probably will. I’d like to just catch him as he comes in, knock him in the head and toss him in the bed for the rest of the night. That’d solve it.”

“That would probably kill him.”

“Nah, guy’s way too tough and hard headed for that.”

“Just about anything could kill him right now, from the looks of him. Only sixty six pounds, Bud. A man can’t possibly survive that for long. I didn’t know a man could survive that at all, really. And especially the way I’m sure he’s been working and traveling, and out in the cold like that...”

Kilgore shrugged. “That’s the stuff keeping him alive, I’m pretty sure. Would have croaked long ago, without that constant challenge to be met. But he’ll run up against the end here sooner or later, run up against it real hard, and I’m just hopin’ he and the family are still here with us when he does it. Well,” he polished off the last bite of pie, washed it down with a gulp of tea, “guess I’d better go see what that old wolverine’s up to, out there.”

“Don’t get yourself shot.”

[FOTH]

No chapter this weekend, but I leave you with a few scenes from the snowy high country around Einar's place:


Stripes...





Aspen frame...





Buried spruces...





Soaring...




Heights...

[icefire]

Beautiful to look at, but WAY too cold for me! I think I'll stay here in the "high desert".

[FOTH]

Mar 2, 2013 19:42:15 GMT -6 icefire said:

Beautiful to look at, but WAY too cold for me! I think I'll stay here in the "high desert".

While the high desert can certainly be beautiful too, I'd be lost, myself, without the snow, the cold and the high, thin air. This is home for me!

Thank you all for reading.

______________________

It did not take Bud long to find Einar, tracks in the snow—barely visible in the as-yet moonless darkness—and a pretty good sense of where the man would go to keep watch on the place leading him up the ridge that paralleled the driveway, where he slowed his pace considerably, wanting to give the man some time to see him, realize who he was and refrain from taking any violent action. The strategy worked, Einar recognizing him in plenty of time and lowering his rifle as the tracker approached, crouching in the snow beside him.

“Everything good out here?”

“Near as I can tell. Quiet, no movement, unless they had guys in place before we got here and they’re lying real low, there’s nobody here now.”

“Aw, we’ve got provisions against that. Lots of provisions, and I checked everything out after you guys went to bed. Nothing going on. They got no reason to suspect. I think we’re in the clear, on this one.”

Einar nodded, not entirely convinced but knowing how seriously Kilgore would have been taking the security of the place, both before their arrival and certainly after. He’d done a good job.

“Back on down to the house then, how about?” Kilgore suggested, rising. “Spend too much time out here and somebody might end up spotting you, realizing you’re not one of us and wondering who we’ve got around the place… Could lead to trouble.”

“I’ll stay low. Not really ready to come in yet.”

“Got something on your mind?”

A low chuckle, and Kilgore joined him. How could he not have things on his mind? A great number of things. But Bud figured this was bound to be something more specific.

“Juni?”

A long silence. “Yeah.”

“You got to let it go, man. This one isn’t on you. That fool kid was up there entirely on her own initiative, taking chances at every turn and knowing full well that one of ‘em might turn out to be the last she ever took. Was worth it to her. You saw that. Livin’ the life she wanted to live, and loving every bit of it.”

“I should have been out front.”

“You’d had your turn out front. Each of us had, Liz and the little one excepted, and you know as well as I do things like that have to be done on a rotating basis. Any one of us would have worn himself—or herself—to a frazzle trying to break trail constantly through deep snow like that, and cut out travel speed in half before too long. Just common sense. And besides, close as you were traveling and the way you jumped after her when that hillside let go, you pretty nearly were out front. Just a couple feet from it. Still limping mighty bad from the looks of things, and hardly an inch of you not banged up and bruised. Likely as not she’d be gone too, even if she had been behind you. Not many could come through what you did up there. You’re just too doggone stubborn to die.”

Einar shook his head, kicked at a clump of snow that had fallen from a nearby spruce during the warmer sunlit hours. “Should have been out front. For that section at least.”

“Would have been a mighty big problem for us all, had she made it down and gone back to her life with full knowledge of your little hiding place, the habits you and your family had developed, the kinds of caches you had out there, all those things you know the intel guys would be just chomping at the bit to get ahold of, in their search for you. You’d have always had to wonder, was this the day she might decide to spill the beans, the day they picked her up and…yeah, you know how it can go. Would have always been out there, hanging over you. So yeah, a tragedy, vibrant young girl like that, and coming to be a real good hand in the wilderness, too, but sometimes these things are just beyond us to quite understand, and we got to take a break where we can get it. You been spared just a little in this thing, you and your family. You’re just a little safer again, little more secure, can go home if you want to. In a while. Got to stick it out a while down here, for everyone’s sake. Look at it that way.”

“Yeah.”

“Not buying it, are you?”

Silence.

“Didn’t figure. Forget about it, then. All of that. Never did hold too much weight with me, either, not when I’d been in a position where the guys were under my command, or otherwise in my charge, and I wasn’t able to bring them home safe. So forget about if it you got to, carry that load for a while but you just keep in mind the folks inside that house waiting for you, Ok? Because they’re in your charge, too. In fact they’re the only ones who are just now, and they’re counting on you to be here to make decisions and lead them to your next home, whether that means back to the old one in a while, or on to a new spot, and you let yourself get lost in this thing and all the stuff it brings to mind—don’t tell me that’s not going on, I can see it in them dead-flat eyes of yours, even in this darkness—well, you’re not gonna be good for much when it comes to making such decisions.”

“Get out of my head, Kilgore. You’re the bane of my existence.”

“Why, thanks very much. That’s a real compliment coming from the likes of you. Now on your feet if you can---hip’s bothering you some, isn’t it?—and come on with me to the house. It’s time sensible folk had a break from this cold, since such is available. Now you know Sue’s gonna pester you some, gonna keep throwing them numbers at you and maybe your lady is gonna do the same, but don’t take it personal. I ain’t into that kind of thing especially, but will tell you she’s right, and what’s more, you know she’s right, just like your Liz has been right in telling you them same things, so you’d better listen to the lot of ‘em, eat their food and get yourself ready for whatever it is comes next.”

Einar was on his feet then with a growl—whether because of his injured hip or by way of protest at Kilgore’s words, the tracker could not tell—and following the man as he headed down the ridge, taking the roundabout route back to the house.