ebb
Member
Posts: 49
|
Post by ebb on Dec 7, 2013 21:29:20 GMT -6
Thanks FOTH I am hopelessly addicted to this story, I read it the minute it is posted if I see it. I would make a cash donation to who ever if Einar would gain a few pounds. Call it a bribe, extortion what ever you like just put a little meat on the poor old boys bones. Maybe the Bills could come and force feed him or some thing?
|
|
|
|
Post by FOTH on Dec 10, 2013 17:19:34 GMT -6
Pacnorwest, thank you. Glad to hear from you! Thanks FOTH I am hopelessly addicted to this story, I read it the minute it is posted if I see it. I would make a cash donation to who ever if Einar would gain a few pounds. Call it a bribe, extortion what ever you like just put a little meat on the poor old boys bones. Maybe the Bills could come and force feed him or some thing? Heh! Not if they want to live through the experience...  Einar is used to being the way he is. But yes, some things--like the cold, and finding a moderately comfortable position in which to sleep at night--would be a bit easier for him if he was't all bones. As for bribes, extortion, cash, etc--not necessary. Just send Nutella! ;D ______________________ A deep chill descended on the place in the night, trees creaking, snapping and Einar restless, cold despite the sleeping bag and Liz pressed at his side, huddling against its force and frequently changing position in an attempt to find one where he could stay for more than a minute or two without feeling like he was bruising bone simply by lying there. Wasn’t working, seldom worked these days, but after a while—his usual solution—he grew too weary to continue the search, and passed into an exhausted sleep. Dreaming of dead aspens, finding, hauling, heavy through the snow, reminded of the way their remaining branches would catch and snag on those of snow-submerged spruces, snap you backwards, bruised shoulder where the tree had been resting and a tremendous effort to get moving again, but he did it over and over, amassing a great pile of the things in his sleep. Only to wake and find them gone. A pale, snow-filtered hint of dawn making its way through the parachute-roof, and Einar crouched shivering over the remains of their last evening’s fire, snow still falling outside at a rate which reassured him that their smoke ought not be seen, and he broke some of the tiny, spiny spruce sticks Liz had set aside for the purpose, breathing the coals back to life. A bit of grouse broth remained from supper, and filling a second pot with snow to begin melting for tea, he put the broth near the growing flames to heat. Breakfast preparations thus under way—with Liz almost always doing the cooking of late, he figured it had to be his turn—Einar left the shelter with the intention of replenishing their rapidly-dwindling supply of firewood. This supply had consisted of no more than a few armloads of quickly-broken branches the two of them had broken from the sheltered areas beneath spruce boughs the evening before, and he knew that if they were to stay in the shelter for any length of time, he would need to be thinking about securing them a better supply. The trees they had been dragging in for the back wall of the shelter would do quite nicely for firewood, dry and even snow-free as many of them were, and he determined to haul in a supply and prop them under the sweeping, spreading boughs of one of the nearby spruces against future need, just as soon as he’d made them a more solid roof. One which would allow them to take down the parachute or at least to use it as an inside layer only, a barrier of sorts against snow particles and wind, but prevent its glowing like an enormous white beacon every time they had a fire at night. Not such a problem in the midst of a storm, but certainly not a risk he would want to take on a clearer night. The roof, then. Going to need a bunch of fairly stout dead aspens, and then it can be shingled with bark slabs like we did at the cabin, if the weather allows it. Otherwise can just add one of the parachutes on top to keep things from falling through, and heap spruce needles on top of that. Would do, for the remainder of the winter. Still somewhat dark to be searching out and hauling the aspens, however, Einar tending to stumble a good bit more frequently than he would have liked in the snowy timber, even by daylight, and besides, his mission had been to gather firewood, and he’d better stick to it, for the time. He shivered, stared up at the greying sky and swung his arms in an attempt to bring a bit of warmth, stop a rather rapid trend towards losing all the feeling in hands and feet. Seemed somewhat of a losing battle a lot of times lately, but one which he knew he must continue fighting. Just had to keep moving. That was the most important thing. You quit moving, you die. Sometimes quite literally, especially in that kind of cold, and with the wind. Wind wasn’t even that strong down in the protective folds of the tiny basin, yet it seemed to knife right through him and sap his will to move, if not his ability to do so. Well. Enough of that. He could move, and did, making his way from tree to tree and breaking off the dry-dead branches which mercifully linger on the undersides of most evergreens, secure from falling snow and awaiting the use of any who might need them. Arms full and bits of wood beginning to drop from the top of his pile whenever he moved, Einar had to call the job finished for the moment, ducking back beneath the now-glowing parachute and depositing his harvest beside the fire. Liz was up, met him with a cup of spruce needle tea. “Soup’s still heating, but this stuff is steaming already. Sweetened with honey, a good way to start the day. Thanks for getting things warming up!” Einar stretched, shivered, crouched over the flames, tea pressed between cold hands. “Oh, you do so much around here. Think I’d be left to munching the occasional mouthful of snow, and no more, if it wasn’t for you. Need to be helping out more than I do.” “You do plenty. And yes, I know you’d probably be living on snow, but that’s going to change now, isn’t it? So you’ll have the energy to build us a roof…” “Changed a good while ago! Remember? I’ve been eating everything you fix.” “Little tastes of it. You can’t build a roof on little tastes! Now is the time to settle in for a while and get you all strong like you used to be. Will be some work, but you know it’s going to be worthwhile.” “Plenty strong now…” “Where’s my rabbit stick?” “Ha!” “Don’t worry, I’ll find it if I need to! Now. The soup looks ready. What do you say we split it?” “Is that really a question?” “No!” “Didn’t figure. Yeah, I’d like some. Please. And then we can go haul in the aspens for the roof. Still figuring this place is as good as any we’re likely to find in the area, better than most, and I’d like to get something solid over our heads before the next big wind comes through here.” |
|
|
|
Post by icefire on Dec 10, 2013 20:34:18 GMT -6
Get the roof built, then settle in and have time to get strong again. (Once they can get some more food, or retrieve some of that moose meat, that is.)
|
|
|
|
Post by pacnorwest on Dec 11, 2013 18:35:45 GMT -6
I can see them never going back for the moose meat. Too much danger, too much traveling difficulty.
|
|
|
|
Post by felicia on Dec 12, 2013 18:15:12 GMT -6
Still trying to catch up. Thanks for the new chapters.
|
|
|
|
Post by FOTH on Dec 13, 2013 17:22:22 GMT -6
Get the roof built, then settle in and have time to get strong again. (Once they can get some more food, or retrieve some of that moose meat, that is.) Yes, will be good to have a place where they can stay for a while, if it works out. I can see them never going back for the moose meat. Too much danger, too much traveling difficulty. It is a difficult trip down to the canyon floor and back, but I expect probably worthwhile if it means the retrieval of some significant portion of that meat. The risk of discovery and the uncertainty about those towers on the canyon rim are another matter, however... Still trying to catch up. Thanks for the new chapters. Thanks for reading! |
|
|
|
Post by FOTH on Dec 13, 2013 17:23:05 GMT -6
While most of the small, dead aspens Einar wanted for the new shelter roof could simply be freed from the ground with a few hard shoves, others were a bit larger and, despite having been dead for enough years that their bark was hanging off in black shreds, they still had a firm hold on the ground. These Einar felled with the axe, struggling, after a few strokes, to keep firm enough hold of the thing with numbed, cramping hands to get the job done effectively and without taking a slice out of his shin, but he managed, triumphant when the first began swaying, tipping, crashing to the ground when he gave it a light push.
Grinning at Liz as he struggled to keep his footing in the steep, slippery powder he plunged down after the fallen tree, sliding it up towards her in steps until she could reach and grab on. He would have liked to simply crouch beside the tree, hoist it up onto his shoulder and climb up out of the shallow gully from which they had been taking the trees, but he’d tried similar things a few times when he gathered trees for the back wall of the shelter, and knew the results would only waste their time. Might have gone on trying anyway, had he been by himself, but with Liz waiting and Will anxious to be out of her coat and exploring the camp once more, he figured he’d better stick to more efficient means of moving the trees, even if they were a bit clumsier than he would have preferred. Reaching the top of the gully Einar pulled himself up over its rim and helped Liz drag the tree up the rest of the way, each of them taking an end as they worked it back down into the protected spot which held the shelter.
Twelve trees in all they harvested this way, Einar balancing a fair number on his shoulder and carrying them himself after they were pulled up and out of the gully, leaving Liz free to use the trip for carrying her own, smaller tree. With Will in the parka-hood she dared not balance a larger aspen on one shoulder as the load might well shift and knock the child in the head. Einar knew all too well the danger of such loads shifting, for he had several times experienced it himself while building the windbreak, and bore the bruises to shoulder, backbone and neck to prove it. Not something which bothered him too much—bruises seemed to be just about the only thing reminding him he was alive, half the time—he hated to think of little Will ending up with a concussion from one of those logs. Liz, thankfully, saw the sense in this and, after several failed attempts to convince him to wear her parka and carry Will so she could do more of the heavy work, contented herself with the smaller trees, with helping Einar haul the large ones up out of the gully, and with occasionally taking one end of an aspen he could not lift and carry, by himself.
In this way they managed to get twelve of the trees brought over to the area of the shelter well before noon, and Einar, not wanting to stop—knew once he quit moving it might be a challenge to start up again—and remembering his cold and not tremendously effective sojourn after firewood the evening before, went back after another tree to chop up for the fire. Whole aspens would go a lot further than the small branches they had been breaking for firewood, allow them a break from the constant need to keep at that task and permit more time for other things—such as building the roof! Two more trees he hauled back for firewood, Liz staying behind prepare a meal and tend to Will, who was by then entirely weary of being trapped in her parka hood, however warm and cozy, and wanted out to move and explore. While she wished Einar did not have to go back out just then—he was, she could see, pretty weary, himself—she could not deny that he had a point when it came to the wisdom of a better firewood supply, especially with the wind still howling in the treetops above their sheltered little alcove, sky lowering again as if to begin a second round of snow.
Not satisfied with simply having the firewood-aspens close to hand, Einar stayed out, when finished with the task of collecting them, to chop and split the trees, stacking the results in the most protected spot he could find beneath one of the shelter-spruces. Job all finished he proceeded—singing as he worked, but Liz could not make out the words, wasn’t entirely sure she would have been able to, even without the wind—to sort through the roof-trees they had dragged in, choosing several of the longest and chopping them roughly in half to give them the right length for the project.
By the time he finished this latest task Einar was barely able to keep on his feet, stumbling, stopping and at times nearly falling asleep standing there in the lowering storm as he surveyed his work, trying to decide what should come next. Liz, that was what, for there she came blustering out of the shelter, Will under one arm and the parachute fabric brushed aside with the other, something between determination and rage showing in her eyes so that he wondered what might be wrong.
“What’s the holdup out here? I’ve called you three times to come in and have some soup, and here you are, just standing here waiting to freeze solid in the storm!”
“Would take an awful long time to…”
“Oh, I know! Would take an awful long time for a man to actually, literally freeze solid, except that in your case it probably wouldn’t take all that long, and besides, you know that wasn’t what I meant. What needs to be done out here, still? What can I do so you can go ahead and come in soon and start getting warm?”
Einar stared blankly around at the neat stack of firewood beneath the spruce, the roof timbers all trimmed to similar heights where they lay beside him, ax buried deep in the flank of the one he’d most recently split, realizing with some dismay that he did not entirely know what needed to be done next, what it was that had been keeping him out here standing in the storm. Nothing much, it appeared. Simply the prospect of finding or making more work, and knowing that explanation would not go too far with Liz under present circumstances he freed the ax, followed her into their improvised tent for a share of whatever wonderful-smelling stew she had managed to so skillfully prepare from their decent but dwindling food supplies…
That matter, too, would soon need to be addressed, and as he allowed himself to be guided over to the fire and handed a pot of steaming broth, he was already running over in his mind the terrain around their shelter-spot, mentally inspecting it for the best trapline prospects.
|
|
|
|
Post by felicia on Dec 14, 2013 8:11:25 GMT -6
Thanks for the new chapter.
|
|
|
|
Post by FOTH on Dec 16, 2013 17:05:54 GMT -6
Thanks for reading, Felicia! Folks, I intended to have a chapter ready for today, and must apologize for not doing that. Things finally thawed a bit here after a couple weeks of below zero temperatures, and this resulted in a fair-sized rockslide coming down onto the road, so much of today was spent clearing that. Thanks to all of you who are reading and participating in the discussion, and I appreciate your patience! |
|
|
|
Post by icefire on Dec 16, 2013 20:27:19 GMT -6
Mother nature DOES have a way of playing havoc with the plans of mere mortals...
|
|
|
|
Post by FOTH on Dec 17, 2013 16:21:45 GMT -6
Mother nature DOES have a way of playing havoc with the plans of mere mortals... Yes, indeed! But somehow I don't mind that nearly as much as when people do it... ____________________ It took Einar, sitting beside the fire and breathing steam from his cup of broth, a good while before he began warming adequately to do much besides shiver and stare, a fact not lost on Liz but one which she saw no need to bring to his attention just then. He would, in all likelihood, simply explain—soon as he was able to speak coherently—that had she not insisted in his coming out of the storm he would be in no such predicament, fire being at the root of his entire difficulty. And he would mean it, too. She just smiled and shook her head, left him to warm and turned her attention to Will, and to the simmering soup. When finally Einar was through the most intense portion of the warming and able to make himself understood again, he began eagerly explaining to Liz his ideas for the roof. “Got most of those aspens down to similar lengths now, and figured we could lean them at an angle against this back wall we already have. Not quite as big or nice as the old cabin, but I’ll build us something better, if we decide to stay. Lots of trees around for the purpose. Figured we could…” paused for a minute as the shivering seized hold again, head bowed and arms pressed tightly at his sides in an effort to control it. “Could heap the roof up with spruce needles to help keep out the wind and moisture, conceal the place until it gets all covered with snow, use branches and a few more aspens to build up the sides…” “That ought to provide pretty good shelter, as wind-free as this place already is because of the terrain.” “Yes. For the wind, figured we could use the parachute inside the shelter, kind like a tapestry in an old castle. Hang it from the ceiling and let it come down along the walls, secure it in place here and there so it doesn’t sag too much, and it’ll help with insulating, trap air between its fabric and the roof, keep out any drafts and snow that might try to find their way through.” “That ought to reflect a lot of light, too, being white. Make the place nice and bright inside, when we’ve got any kind of a fire.” “Thought you might like that.” “Yes! A lot easier to do projects when it’s bright inside the shelter. If the parachute is to be like a tapestry in an old castle, though, I’ll have to embroider scenes on it, battles, wolverines, your first successful wooly mammoth hunt…” “Wooly mammoths haven’t lived here since…” “I’m kidding! I know they’ve been extinct for quite a long time, but wouldn’t it look entirely appropriate to see one come ambling up through the timber out there, back all matted with snow and you wrapped in that wolverine hide and challenging it with a spear?” Einar laughed. “Yep, that’s me. Wolverine slayer, mammoth hunter and all-around caveman. Sounds about right. Hey, can you imagine how warm a mammoth hide would be? Too heavy to wear, I expect. Heavier than a buffalo hide, even. But surely the best bed quilt that ever existed. Too bad the critters are gone.” “Oh, I don’t know about that. Sure would be neat to see one, and you’ve got a point about the hide, but if they were still around, you’d probably insist on challenging one hand-to-hand without any sort of weapons, just to see if you could survive being stomped. Wouldn’t you?” Laughing, getting to his feet and standing over the fire, Einar drained his cup of broth. “Well, there’s really no other way to know for sure, is there?” “See? That’s why I don’t mind so much that wooly mammoths, sabre tooth tigers, pterodactyls and some of the other larger former inhabitants of these mountains are now extinct! Because you’d just have to challenge them, if they were here…” “Pterodactyls are not extinct. I’ve shot one down with my bow.” “Right. Large, flying predators with armor. Guess I’d just never realized that pterodactyls were rotary-winged creatures!” “Sure! Sure they were. Can hear ‘em coming from miles away.” “You know, I was just thinking last night that it’s been quite a long time since we’ve heard a pterodactyl, even in the distance. The quiet sure has been nice.” Einar glanced anxiously at the sky, sinking a bit lower in his stance as if certain he was about to start hearing that distant rumble even then. “Yeah. The quiet is good. Have to wonder how long it will last. Hopefully until Will is big enough to use a crossbow, so he can go hunting with me!” “Crossbow?” “For the pterodactyls. Crossbows made with leaf springs from abandoned trucks. Or from pieces of other downed pterodactyls. Works pretty well either way.” “Oh! Yes, I guess it does. Hopefully you and Will won’t ever have to hunt those particular flying creatures again, but if you do, I’m sure you’ll be ready, both of you. I have no doubt that he’ll be learning to build and operate a crossbow by the time he loses his first tooth—if not even sooner!” “Never too soon to start learning. Is it, Snorri? Come here. I’ll tell you how it works.” Will just laughed and went on precisely and methodically picking apart the spruce cone with which he had been entertaining himself, delighted at his father’s addressing him but not entirely understanding. Not yet. That would surely come, with time. Having described to Liz his vision for the roof and found it to be to her approval, Einar was anxious to get started on the project, leaning the angled logs and pinning up the parachute-tapestry on walls and ceiling, but Liz caught his arm, insisted he stay. “Not now. Not yet. You haven’t had any soup, and besides, if you move the parachute while it’s storming like this, all our things are going to get snow blown onto them. It can wait. Maybe tomorrow the storm will finally be over, and then I’ll help you move the logs, stack them up, hold fabric while you tack it in place—everything!” |
|
|
|
Post by felicia on Dec 18, 2013 9:18:31 GMT -6
Thanks for the new chapter.
|
|
