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Post by thefishinmagician on Mar 21, 2013 15:36:59 GMT -6
PTSD is a hell of a thing.
Thank God there's freedom from that bondage.
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Post by suvalley on Mar 21, 2013 16:00:03 GMT -6
I don't think there is any way through this, except Einar's way: Bullheaded. Now he needs to find a jar of Nutella, have some honey, drink some water he drew from the well himself, and spend some quiet time with his son. Perhaps his son's continued growth will be an inspiration of sorts, serve to provide that one goad that will change the plan. Because so far, no amount of talking has worked. Poor Liz  |
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grizz
New Member
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Post by grizz on Mar 21, 2013 16:06:37 GMT -6
Without EA s focus on survival we wouldn't still be enjoying the fine writing skills of FOTH, at least not in this story line, EA's fast single minded reaction along with a few well timed rescues has kept him alive. I don't see what else Bud could have done, FOTH this is an amazing story and raising emotional reaction from your readers is very firm evidence of that, keep up the excellent work Thank you for sharing your work.  |
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Post by FOTH on Mar 21, 2013 16:31:20 GMT -6
My heart hurts for Einar, for the only possible outcome will be all of his mind and strength used up to fuel his singlemindedness. If there's one thing he does have, it's a singleminded focus on whatever he's set for himself to accomplish. This has usually served him well...  He is indeed, dangerous when he cannot distinguish reality from memory (or some version of that) I think those of us who feel invested in this marvelous novel, are frustrated that common sense seems to have deserted Einar, leaving paranoia and survival instincts in charge, so to speak.
I think he needs a good soak in a bathtub, and a good long look in the mirror at just how skeletal he has become. And, he needs to be brought up short that in his weakened state, he is no help to anyone. I am very surprised he hasn't been braking bones left and right, due to his prolonged starvation.
Other than that, write on, please! I can never get enough, lol I think it frustrates Einar, too, though he would no doubt describe the situation somewhat differently. Though it has been pointed out to him more than once, I do expect that he still fails to quite see the reality of his physical situation. So long as he is capable of reasonably quick movement and not lying flat on his face, he will tend to think he's basically "just fine." Not sure how a person gets around that, when one's entire life has been spent conditioning one's self to push past physical difficulties, and carry on with the mission. But yes, I'm sure his bones are not in a very good state just now, and fractures are a very real possibility. Survival instinct??? the guy is almost starved to death! paranoia OK I agree had has that in spades, but any real survival instinct is so warped from malnutrition and paranoia he is just lucky he is still alive and free and has gotten Liz and Will killed. Yeah, sometimes not even basic instincts can be trusted... Strange world. I don't mean to sound provocative. These are just my thoughts from having followed this story from the beginning. Einar's in a place/mind-set that I can't even begin to relate to. Everyone around him is trying to keep him alive despite himself. It seems that no matter what they do, he keeps coming back to that self-destructive mind set.
Since I can't relate to Einar, I've tried to put myself in Bud's or Liz's place. (It's easier for me to think like Bud than Liz.)
What are the options?
1. Liz has tried mightily to persuade him that he's over the edge and that he needs to come back for them.
2. Bud has tried to beat some sense into him on many occasions to no avail.
3. Juni tried to reach him and provide some type of closure reliving his past.
4. If I recall, Einar has prayed for divine intervention, to some degree.
5. Even the raven has tried pecking some sense into him.
Where's he at?
1. He's emaciated at 66 lbs.
2. He refuses to do the basics required to live, namely eat and drink.
3. He's paranoid, with justification, but to an extreme that he has mostly lost touch with reality.
4. He has repeatedly tried to "escape" even though doing so would lead the Feds to all of them. This without regard for Liz or Will.
What are the options?
1. Strap him down and feed him through an NG tube. Don't think that will be appreciated much. Though, if you could keep him from killing himself from trying to get out of the restraints you might be able to get enough nutrition in him to start thinking a little clearer.
2. Continue to thwart his escape attempts and cajole him into changing his attitude, eating habits. Hasn't worked so far.
3. Get him to Roger's plane and drop him in the high country. Pretty tough on Liz. Would give Einar what he wants...his own death.
4. Put a bullet in his head. To noisy, messy, and left with a body to dispose of. Besides, Liz would go over the edge. Coltcowboy, I appreciate your perspective. I know you've been reading from the beginning. I am glad you cannot. Be thankful for that. Seems you've summarized things pretty realistically, there. Of your four options, I think Einar would definitely prefer # 3 or 4, if there was no other choice. Strapping him down and attempting to do something like you mentioned would, I think, only end in disaster, for a number of reasons. It's a difficult situation. Sometimes there are no good solutions. Thanks again for your perspective. PTSD is a hell of a thing.
Thank God there's freedom from that bondage. Yes. For some, while still on this earth, for others, only after. I don't think there is any way through this, except Einar's way: Bullheaded.
Now he needs to find a jar of Nutella, have some honey, drink some water he drew from the well himself, and spend some quiet time with his son. Perhaps his son's continued growth will be an inspiration of sorts, serve to provide that one goad that will change the plan. Because so far, no amount of talking has worked. Poor Liz Yes, Liz is more patient than anyone should have to be. Did somebody say Nutella??  Yes, that would probably help. And yes, I think the only way through this for Einar is the way he's always got through life, but it sure does get complicated when other people are involved. Grizz--thank you. And thank you all for the valuable discussion. |
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Post by FOTH on Mar 21, 2013 16:31:56 GMT -6
Bud, fairly confident that Einar would be all but incapacitated for a time yet and supposing he would be just about the last person the man would want to see after the little incident with the dart—two of them might come to physical conflict over that one, and if so, seemed only right to wait until the man had full grasp of his faculties—was out on one of his regular rounds of the property when Einar finally made his way down that incredibly long-seeming hallway and into the kitchen. Susan was there, carrying little Will on her hip and talking to him as she busied about adding things to a mixing bowl and checking something in the oven, a series of wonderful and enticing smells assailing Einar as he laboriously pulled himself up so that he could lean on the kitchen island and watch her.
Something about the way the woman carried his son, the soft words with which she narrated for him all of her actions and sought to explain what he was seeing—it reached Einar, reassured him, for a reason which he could not quite explain, that Susan meant no harm either to the little one or to any of them. For which reason, rather than devising a hasty plan to rescue Will, he remained content simply to stay still, and to observe. Which was probably a good thing for a number of reasons, not least amongst which was the rather inconvenient fact that had he attempted any quick motion just then, he almost certainly would have ended up flat on his face on the floor. Was having rather a hard time maintaining his current position, in fact, leaning hard on both elbows but beginning to lose strength in his legs so that he could barely remain standing, and when Liz took an arm and guided him to the floor so he could sit with back against the wall and a good view of the room, he made no objection. Hip wasn’t working right where the avalanche had twisted it, seemed to grate and creak when he moved, and he knew it ought to be hurting a great deal more than it was, at the moment. Certainly had been, before. Must be the dart again.
Scrutinizing the room as well as he could do from his position on the floor, Einar didn’t see his knife or rifle anywhere, and with Kilgore nowhere to be found at the moment, he supposed he’d have to wait if he was to get the weapons back into his hands. The prospect of which was a good deal less onerous than he knew it ought to have been, a lingering result, he expected, of the dart poison in his system. Dreadful stuff. Sapping a man’s energy like that, his very will. Wanted to be angry, compel himself to get up and do something about it, but nothing seemed to be working. So he sat. Waiting. Wished he had a quicker way of loosening the poison’s grip. Seemed to remember that water had helped, before. Plunging his head beneath the icy waters of the creek and watching the fish for a while—though it had nearly done him in, as well as helping, long as it had taken him to remember that he was not in fact an aquatic creature, and must eventually resume breathing—but he couldn’t do that here in this house where he lacked access to creeks, snowbanks and the like, and realizing it, he felt trapped. Would just have to wait for the stuff to run its course, keep as watchful as he was able under the circumstances and pray that no quick action would be required of him until he was once more a bit more able to come through.
Still wished he had his weapons. Wished it even more now that he had resigned himself to what was promising to be something of a lengthy wait, and with a great deal of effort and a hastily suppressed gasp of pain—could begin to feel the hip again, which had to be a good sign—he got himself to his feet, using walls and furniture to brace against as he searched the room. Susan, releasing Will onto the floor and sliding her tins of apple muffin batter into the oven, joined him, taking a seat on the chair towards which he appeared next headed. Einar stopped short, watching her warily.
“Is there something I can get for you? What do you need?”
“Seem…” He coughed, throat too dry to get the words out, tried again. “Seem to have misplaced my rifle and knife… Sure don’t like to…lose track of such things.”
“No, I would’t think so. Here, have a seat.” Einar sat. Had been about to fall, and didn’t particularly want to do that, much trouble as it was seeming just then to right himself again. Susan brought water, offered it but he shook his head. Liz was there, too, Will on her knee as she sat beside him, and she had an idea. Making sure Einar was watching, she took a steel measuring cup from the kitchen, opened the sliding glass door just far enough to reach an arm out, scooping snow from a drift that had accumulated against the house in the last storm, and not been entirely shoveled away. Einar still following her every move, she set the cup on the woodstove, where it was soon hissing and steaming as the snow began to melt. Reclaiming the cup before the resulting water had a chance to heat up—still contained drifting bits of slush, in fact—she handed it to Einar, who looked doubtful, but only for a moment. He drank, momentarily closing his eyes at the wonder of it, parched throat calling out for more, and when Liz prepared another cup, he drained that as well. Half expected to begin feeling worse, losing consciousness as the additional poison seeped into his system—how it was to have got into the snow, he didn’t know, but Kilgore was a clever one—but instead he found himself feeling more awake, alert and steady than he had at any time since waking. A good thing.
Now, back to the matter at hand. Susan had not answered his question. Well, he supposed in all fairness, he had not so much asked a question as he had made a statement, but still she had not answered, and seemed to be deliberately avoiding the matter. Wasn’t going to do. He fixed her with an incredibly intense gaze, meaning only to try and discern whether or not she might in reality know the answer, but succeeding in making her quite uncomfortable, at the same time. She did not lower her eyes as many would have done, met his gaze.
“I don’t know where he put them. Is that what you were going to ask?”
“Yes.”
“Give him a few minutes. He should be back soon.”
“Don’t want to wait.”
“I know.”
“I’ll look.”
“I won’t stop you.”
Which she did not, heading into the kitchen to check her baking as he raised himself laboriously from the chair and resumed prowling about the room in what he knew was likely a futile search for items which Kilgore would have concealed far from prying eyes and easy reach. Wouldn’t have had much choice. It was what he would have done. But irked him, nonetheless, both as a matter of principle and on a much more practical level, as a man in unfamiliar territory and surrounded by potential enemies. Had to find them. Or something which could serve the purpose, in the meantime. Kitchen seemed a good place to start. Nobody would think of hiding a rifle in the broom closet, which made that a likely place. And if not, kitchens always tended to come equipped with knives of various sorts…
Einar did not get very far, his loss of consciousness, Liz and Susan concluded, likely brought on not so much by the lingering effect of whatever was in that bear dart as from the simple exhaustion and lack of nourishment which had been affecting him upon his arrival and which, intentionally or otherwise, he seemed to have been working his hardest to avoid remedying while at the house. Together they lifted him onto the couch, covered him with a quilt and went back to their baking, each silently hoping he might remain asleep until after Bud’s return, so some resolution could be reached to the problem of the missing weapons.
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Post by thefishinmagician on Mar 23, 2013 19:02:39 GMT -6
"PTSD is a hell of a thing. Thank God there's freedom from that bondage." Yes. For some, while still on this earth, for others, only after. Heavenly Father doesn't play favorites. If it's available for one, it's available for all. But, despite His Great Love for us, He won't violate our free will...That's our choice to accept it. |
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Post by paradox on Mar 24, 2013 10:28:48 GMT -6
"PTSD is a hell of a thing. Thank God there's freedom from that bondage." Yes. For some, while still on this earth, for others, only after. Heavenly Father doesn't play favorites. If it's available for one, it's available for all. But, despite His Great Love for us, He won't violate our free will...That's our choice to accept it. I find it ironic that a) Einar asks the Lord for assistance in 'staying free' and kept away from his enemies, but refuses the help that the Lord offers in the following: b) Einar is attempting to stay free, but in reality, he is keeping himself in prison. his physical body may be roaming around, but his mind and soul are still imprisoned in that cage. What is the point of the body being free when everything that makes us us is trapped elsewhere? He is trying to avoid those that would imprison his body, but he is his own jailer in the areas that really matter. And he refuses the help of his Lord and God in finding that lasting freedom that he really needs. |
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Post by FOTH on Mar 24, 2013 15:40:21 GMT -6
Heavenly Father doesn't play favorites. If it's available for one, it's available for all. But, despite His Great Love for us, He won't violate our free will...That's our choice to accept it.
No, He doesn't play favorites; there's forgiveness for all who seek it. I was simply referring to the experience of people on this earth, even the redeemed, and how it differs from one to another. I find it ironic that
a) Einar asks the Lord for assistance in 'staying free' and kept away from his enemies, but refuses the help that the Lord offers in the following:
b) Einar is attempting to stay free, but in reality, he is keeping himself in prison. his physical body may be roaming around, but his mind and soul are still imprisoned in that cage. What is the point of the body being free when everything that makes us us is trapped elsewhere? He is trying to avoid those that would imprison his body, but he is his own jailer in the areas that really matter. And he refuses the help of his Lord and God in finding that lasting freedom that he really needs. The point of the body being free is that once a person has had that freedom taken away from them, even if only for a short time in comparison to all of life, they tend to value it in a way that probably can't be entirely understood by one who hasn't had that experience. If Einar's still in that cage in his mind and soul, maybe it's ultimately (not that he would likely be able to express it this way) because he believes he deserves to be there, and has no right to ask deliverance. That's probably what it comes down to. Thank you all for reading. |
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Post by FOTH on Mar 24, 2013 15:41:09 GMT -6
Muninn the raven had been watching the place for the better part of two days, having located it not long after Einar and Liz got settled in, but reluctant to approach, being, after all, a wild creature and not entirely used to human habitations. This day though, watching as Kilgore left the house and recognizing the man, something compelled him to go in for a closer look. This is how he came to be perched on the deck railing when Susan went out to collect a pot full of snow from the deck. Liz had wanted to do it, arguing that she could then truthfully tell Einar that she, and only she had been involved with the gathering and melting of the stuff, thus presumably making him a bit more likely to feel safe drinking it, but Susan had insisted that it would be unwise for Liz to show herself outside, for that reason or any other. She had no real reason to suspect that they were being kept under surveillance at all times, but with no way to prove the contrary and a history of the searchers keeping an eye on the place, it seemed far better that the matter of their having guests remain unknown to all.
The raven recognized Susan, tilting his head and letting out a soft rasping call which she could not help but take as a question.
“Yes, they’re in there, if that’s what you were asking. I was wondering when you were going to show up. Didn’t expect you’d have had any real trouble following them here, but it’s a different place, isn’t it? An unfamiliar one, especially to you who’ve spent your entire life up in the high country…”
The bird took a cautious hop closer, but did not answer. “Well, are you coming in? Don’t know if you’ll be able to put up with something so different as a house, but you know all of us. We’re not going to do you any harm. And just maybe your being there will in some way help your human to realize the same thing, because he’s having a little trouble with that, right now. What do you think?”
Muninn was thinking, alright, wanting into the house where he knew Einar, Liz and the little one must be—had heard the latter numerous times, and despite lack of recent audible confirmation of Einar’s presence and an inability to see inside due to drawn curtains on most of the windows, sensed that the man was in there as well—but remaining cautious, the entire thing looking rather like a potential trap to his ever-cautious raven brain. It was Will who finally convinced him, letting out a squeal of delight as he galloped past the door on hands and knees, chasing Susan’s big tortoiseshell cat. That voice he knew, and having come to consider himself a protector and guardian over the smallest Asmundson, it seemed only right that he ought to go inside when Susan opened the door.
After a cursory inspection of the place—big, strange, but it smelled of food and was basically to his liking—Muninn took wing and came to rest on the couch above Einar, chortling softly and reaching down to twist a bit of the unconscious man’s hair before settling in as sentry until he should wake. Susan allowed him to stay, only scooting him to the side long enough to slip a towel beneath him, unsure of the bird’s habits when in a house but not wanting to lose furniture to the creature, should he prove to be less well-mannered than she might hope.
Will, spotting the raven, gave up his chase of the cat—a large, mild-mannered beast who having gone through the toddler years of all five of Susan’s grandchildren, knew very well how to manage herself around grasping little hands—and made straight for the bird, fascinated as always with the ever-changing iridescence of his feathers. Before either Susan or Liz could move to stop him, the little one had hoisted himself up and was shuffling his way along the couch, trying for a closer position to those wonderfully tempting feathers and ending up behind the piece of furniture, in a spot very close to the one in which his father had previously hidden himself to sleep. The resulting chaos of squeals, rasps and finally a loud protest from the bird when Will came away with a prized tail feather ought surely to have wakened Einar, had he been capable of waking, but it did not.
While Liz and Susan had been concerned about the results should Einar wake before Bud’s return and go back to demanding his missing weapons, it soon became apparent that they might have more to fear in the opposite—his not waking at all. Certainly he was showing no sign of it, and when Bud returned, the tracker’s voice failing, like everything else, to get a response, they all began to worry just a bit. The main concern was that the dart might have had some unfortunate, long-lasting impact upon his ability to remain awake, interfered somehow with the functioning of his brain or with his breathing, perhaps, but he seemed to be breathing fairly regularly at the moment, if slowly and seldom. Which, according to Liz, was not at all out of the ordinary for recent weeks. Bud had his own ideas.
“He’s gonna be just fine, you know, once he’s slept this thing off. I didn’t give him enough of the dart to have done this. He’s already been awake after that, was starting to come out of it. This is just straight-up exhaustion, and the longer he can sleep, the better, I figure. Unless he’s out so long that he starts drying up and blowing away in the breeze, which wouldn’t take one heck of a long time just now, from the looks of him, and if that starts to happen we may have to try and remedy the situation, one way or another. We can do that, you know.” He turned his attention to Liz. “With your permission. Sue and I are all equipped to run IVs, the works, and we’ve both got the training, too. Might be a real good idea to go ahead and do that while he’s out, since we all know there’s not one chance in a million he’d let any of it happen while he’s awake… Could even put something in there to help make sure he wouldn’t be waking up too thoroughly before it’d had a chance to do him some real good.”
Liz was quick to shake her head, suppressing the hasty voice that urged her to do it, go for it, may be his only chance… “No, I can’t give permission for that. He trusts me, and I know it isn’t what he would want, under these circumstances, or just about any others. He was drinking. He’ll be alright, so long as he keeps that up. And starts eating.”
“Right.” No more comment from Bud, but Liz could see what he was thinking.
“He was asking about his rifle and knife a while ago. Do you know what happened to them?”
“Yeah, I know what happened. He’s not getting them back, that’s what. Not in my house, he’s not. Not just now.”
“It’s our house…” Susan gently reminded him.
“Not in our house, then. No way. Up at the cabin it was different, his own territory, but with this place being unfamiliar and him eight thousand miles away most of the time…nope. I got you guys to think about, all of you, and until he’s been awake for a while, and himself, this is the way it’s got to be. Rough, I know, especially when the threat is real and he’s gonna have that on his mind, but I don’t see any way around it. Don’t worry. If there’s explaining to do, I’ll be the one to do it.”
Which appeared very soon to be necessary, Einar beginning to stir beneath his blankets, struggling to open his eyes
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Post by icefire on Mar 24, 2013 18:59:57 GMT -6
That's where the TRUE freedom in Christ is....even though we DON'T deserve His mercy and forgiveness, and the deliverance it brings, and can't forgive ourselve for our sins; both sins of commission and sins of omission, His forgiveness does NOT depend on us deserving it, because we don't, and never can. That is where the true mercy of the Lord is...he loves us and will forgive us, if only we will ACCEPT his love and turn from our sins. Being human, we can NEVER earn that forgiveness, we must simply accept it as a matter of faith.
Einar needs to come to that realization, and accept that perfect gift, whether he deserves it or not, because NONE of us do.
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Post by paradox on Mar 24, 2013 20:45:52 GMT -6
If Einar's still in that cage in his mind and soul, maybe it's ultimately (not that he would likely be able to express it this way) because he believes he deserves to be there, and has no right to ask deliverance. That's probably what it comes down to. Thank you all for reading. Isn't that the whole point of grace? That we don't deserve it? Thank you for writing. |
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Post by suvalley on Mar 25, 2013 18:07:33 GMT -6
Ah, Munnin! Just what the doctor ordered! This is going to reassure Einar like nothing else would. Perhaps he will rest enough, take in enough food and drink to recover his addled wits, yes? I hope so!
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Yes, that would probably help. And yes, I think the only way through this for Einar is the way he's always got through life, but it sure does get complicated when other people are involved.