Coming Home

[FOTH]

Felicia and twomedicine woman, thank you!

(Though you *do* have me wondering now what other meaning those words may have...)


___________________

Einar’s continued presence at the shelter secured for the time being, Liz hurried back inside to finish doing what she could to turn the previous night’s half-frozen stew into a good, filling breakfast, Einar remaining outside just long enough to run up the ridge as he had been his initial intent, needing to restore some circulation to stillness-numbed limbs. This task accomplished with some minor success he rejoined Liz in the shelter, partaking of a most welcome if somewhat slushy breakfast feast of moose stew. Will, allowed by Liz only small tastes of the stew when he seemed curious, was curious about something else, too.

Cozy in his woolen undergarments and the insulated suit provided him by Susan before their flight and jump he romped about the interior of the shelter, pausing in each of his rounds to stare at the flickering candle flame and then at the cold remains of the previous night’s fire, a quizzical look on his face. After being corrected several times by both Einar and Liz for too closely approaching the firepit while it was lit, he knew the boundaries, knew where he was supposed to stop, but could barely restrain himself from creeping closer in his quest for information. A pointed glance from Einar, who the child was watching nearly as closely as he was the cold firepit, stopped his forward progress, Will rocking back and forth on hands and knees as he stared into the ashes and sang a little song about “fi-fi-ur, fi-fi…UR?” voice going higher at the end as he all but demanded to know the fate of the flames whose movements he so loved to watch.

“Fire’s out, little guy,” Einar explained, scooping him up before he could venture too much further into the restricted area and get himself into trouble. “You don’t know about planes yet, but you will, and when those things are around, we can’t risk making smoke. Smoke. See? Like this…” and he took a sprig of spruce needles from the supply Liz had brought in for tea, held it above the candle flame until it began smoking. “That’s smoke. That’s what we don’t want, today. Smoke.”

“’Moke?”

“Yeah, smoke. That’s right. Real good for keeping the flies off of meat and for tanning buckskins, but not so good when you’ve got planes in the air. Don’t worry. You’ll learn all that as time goes by. And hopefully at some point…” Einar was quiet for a minute, eyes distant, suddenly appearing very weary, and when he continued his voice was low, a little rough. “At some point hopefully you won’t have to worry about it anymore, at all. Would really like that for you, Snorri. For you and your mother.”

“And for you,” Liz was quick to put in, not liking the sound of future planning that did not expressly involve all three of them. “For all of us.”

“Yeah. But if they had me, they wouldn’t keep looking. It would be over, and you guys…”

“Don’t even suggest that! Will has a right to know his father, to grow up with him. Would you deprive him of that?”

Einar shrugged, picked up his parka and finished stitching the tear in its sleeve, going at the work with a silent fury which both seemed to preclude further discussion and to indicate that the matter was weighing on Einar’s mind, and Liz let it drop. Did not like to hear him talk that way, thought it really did not sound like him at all. She wondered how long he had been entertaining such thoughts, and how seriously he had meant what might have been dismissed as a passing notion, a simple frustrated outburst, from anyone slightly less literal and precise than Einar tended to be. Well. She supposed it was only natural that certain things would come up as he really began to contemplate Will’s future as an individual, as a person, and these were conversations in which they would have to engage. At least he was thinking ahead. Always good to think ahead. Sometimes best not to go too far with it, though.

When Einar went out that evening—after a day of no more planes, but no fire, either—to check his snares, it was to find the empty. He did, though, see one set of tracks where a rabbit had passed just outside the little corridor in which he’d chosen to set that particular snare, a sign of life, at least, and a promise of more to come. The weather, too, held promise of change, extreme cold that had prevailed for the morning and maintained its grip through most of the afternoon at last lessening, waning ahead of a wind as soft and strange as it was persistent. Einar would have almost called it warm. Most days. That evening it only seemed to add to the ice in his bones, chattering teeth and leaving him to hunch his shoulders against what seemed to be a perceptible and alarmingly rapid stripping away of what little warmth remained precariously preserved in the core of his sinewy frame. Shivering but not caring too much, he headed for home, stopping several times to test the wind with his nose, scenting a change, a softening, even if his body could not yet feel it. Smells were carried on that wind, strange, live smells that promised some faraway but approaching change not only of immediate weather conditions, but of the season itself.

All of which was interesting, but of far less immediate concern than the fact that he’d failed to find game, and they were out of moose stew. Out of moose altogether, actually, and though they still had a fair quantity of the food sent along with them by Bud and Susan in the drop bag, both he and Liz had been hoping very much to be able to save the vast majority of those provisions, stashing them away against a time of need. Well, they had need. A need he was not meeting, and would not meet, so long as he stood there semi-dazed and staring beneath the little cluster of leafless aspens which were currently doing nothing to shield him from the warm-freezing tentacles of the wind. Visibly shaking himself in hope of shattering some of the creeping apathy which had begun wrapping itself unannounced and unwelcomed around both mind and body he set off, eyes darting from one cluster of vegetation to the next and ears sharp for any indication that potential game might be present.

When Einar’s sought-after indication came, it arrived in a burst of feathery energy that sent his heart into his throat and nearly left him to make a dive for the ground, so nearly did it resemble the sudden materialization of a hovering helicopter. Initial alarm passed and no aircraft in sight Einar grinned a bit sheepishly, biting his lip to avoid laughing aloud and further alarming the grouse he’d scared up out of a small knot of chokecherry scrub. The bird, true to the nature of its species, had not gone far, and saw gawking unconcernedly at him from a low fir branch not ten yards distant. Supper, if he’d ever seen it…

[2medicine woman]

Right away, I was thinking "the raven is back!" Not so. - - It has always bothered me how natural intuitive thought is for babies and toddlers and yet, it is easily taken from them by their surroundings and/or circumstances. Tribal children know the gifts of Earth, the spirits of their ancestors, the lives of their elders. They intuitively know relationship to the animal, vegetable, mineral. It seems to me, at least, enough time is not given to family learning. I think it is a combination of the hurry hurry society and the economic ruled world most live in. Depending on income, many need both parents working. Then we have the " I HAVE to work, I would go crazy if I didn't work" group. Also, the fancy homes, cars, clothes and status that is maintained at a very high cost in money, family and health.

I do ramble, I know. I really love the interaction with little Will and his family and surroundings. It is well written and quite endearing.

Thank you for another great post. Will wait patiently (as if) for the next addition.

*2medicine woman*

[FOTH]

Feb 19, 2014 18:47:45 GMT -6 2medicine woman said:

Right away, I was thinking "the raven is back!" Not so. - - It has always bothered me how natural intuitive thought is for babies and toddlers and yet, it is easily taken from them by their surroundings and/or circumstances. Tribal children know the gifts of Earth, the spirits of their ancestors, the lives of their elders. They intuitively know relationship to the animal, vegetable, mineral. It seems to me, at least, enough time is not given to family learning. I think it is a combination of the hurry hurry society and the economic ruled world most live in. Depending on income, many need both parents working. Then we have the " I HAVE to work, I would go crazy if I didn't work" group. Also, the fancy homes, cars, clothes and status that is maintained at a very high cost in money, family and health.

Yes, it seems a lot of people have traded the things that really matter for that false image of a "successful" life, which in the end brings neither real success nor happiness. It's too bad. But I guess it's human nature, too.

Thanks for reading!

______________________


Supper was taken with a heavy branch, accurately thrown and hitting its mark, Einar neither wanting to waste a bullet when other options existed or to risk the noise, should it turn out that the plane had indeed left men on the canyon rim. Hefting the bird in his hand—not nice and plump as it would have been in the late summer and fall; winter takes its toll on all creatures—he was pleased to see that it had been doing reasonably well despite the harsh conditions, solid and sound and a good meal for all of them. Hurrying ahead of darkness, he returned to the shelter, not liking the fact that his snares had not, as yet, produced, not liking the potential implications, but glad at least to be able to provide some fresh food for their supper.

Liz was no less than delighted at the appearance of the grouse. It had been a long time since they’d enjoyed such a meal, and variety was always welcome. Especially when it came in the form of a large, soon-to-be sizzling grouse. Before Einar had finished plucking the bird she had a fire going and a pot of snow melting in anticipation of the feast, and when he handed her the prepared grouse she was ready, but did not drop it immediately into the warming water.

“I guess we’d really better boil it, hadn’t we? Instead of roasting over the fire. I know it’s more efficient that way…”

“Thought you were intending to boil it, from the looks of that pot there.”

“Well, I was, but then I got to thinking how nice it would be to have some roast bird, you know, with the skin all sizzling and crispy…”

“Like a Thanksgiving turkey, huh?”

“Something like that! What do you think?”

Einar was very nearly too cold and weary to think at all, and this talk of food was making his empty stomach hurt and cramp, but Liz’s sincere outpouring of delight and excitement at their upcoming supper made him smile and do his best to remain part of the conversation. “Well, it’s true that you get the most nutrition out of a critter when you stew it, since nothing is lost that way and you end up with broth. But I don’t see what the harm would be in roasting a grouse, for once. We can always make broth with the carcass, afterwards.”

“Oh, good! Let’s do that! It’s going to be such a treat. I’ll just need to rig up some way to prop it over the fire, and…oh, no! Will!”

Glancing behind him Einar soon saw the trouble, little one having galloped over to the waiting grouse and promptly begun chewing on one of the wings. A rather comical sight, grouse wing sticking out of both ends of his mouth and a most sincere and awestruck look in his eyes as he chomped away, spit dribbling from his chin. Einar, being closer, snatched him up and freed—with no little difficulty, the boy having rather strong jaws—the hapless bird, handing it to Liz. “Why, you little wolverine! Thought you were going to get away with that, didn’t you? Thought you’d found quite a prize! A little young for devouring whole birds yet, don’t you think? Seeing as you don’t even have any teeth…”


“Oh, I meant to tell you!” Liz took the child, doing her best to clean his face and remove from it any trace of raw grouse. “He is getting his first tooth! Has been for about a week now. That’s why he’s drooling so much. I guess he thought it was time to try it out! Or just thought that grouse wing looked like something that would feel good on his gums. They chew on almost everything, at this stage.”

“Guess we’d better get him something to chew on. Maybe I can carve something out of aspen wood, polish it real good so he doesn’t risk getting any splinters. I’m guessing he’s too young to be eating a whole grouse!”

“Oh, yes. Way too soon for that. You don’t think he’ll get sick, do you? From chewing on that raw meat? I tried to clean his mouth and face, but couldn’t get all of it.”

“Nah, I doubt it. Little guy surely has a pretty strong immune system, living out here like he does and getting plenty of his mama’s milk. Besides, the bird was real fresh, and it’s not exactly warm in here. No time for anything dangerous to grow on it. Probably do him good.”

“I don’t know about that, but hopefully it won’t do any harm, at least. And this grouse is going to do us all a lot of good, as soon as we can get it cooked up! This whole place will be smelling like Thanksgiving dinner, before long!” With which Liz quit talking and got down to business, leaving Einar to keep an eye on Will while she skewered the grouse on a long aspen stick and propped it at an angle under a rock where the healthy bed of coals could begin cooking it.

The shelter was, indeed, soon filled with a most wonderful aroma as the bird began warming, crisping up just a bit on the outside, and as the flames died down a bit Liz moved it closer to the coals, keeping an almost-constant vigil and tuning the bird frequently to prevent overcooking or drying any part of it. Will watched the entire process with the same intensity and fascination with which he met most things in life, following Liz’s every movement while chewing insistently at a fold in Einar’s parka sleeve. Tiring of the constant assault and figuring that sleeve couldn’t be amongst the cleanest of things on which the little one to do his teething, Einar finally freed his sleeve and set the child aside.

“You stay right there and don’t move, Snorri. Understand? Have to get something from outside.”

Liz’s eyes looked big as she watched him go—what is it she thinks I’m headed out there to get, anyway?—but she said nothing. Searching in the snow, Einar wandered up the ridge in the dusky evening light, kicking at shapes beneath the snow until he unearthed an object which appeared likely to meet his purpose. Brushing and shaking as much snow as he could from the small, dense aspen burl, he headed for the narrow slit of light that was shining most welcomingly from beneath the shelter door, smelling roasting grouse before he was halfway back down. He lingered for a few minutes outside the door, reluctant, somehow, to enter and spoil the delightful sense of anticipation that came with smelling such wonderfully enticing odors and knowing that he would soon find himself partaking of the feast. Finally though, hearing Liz moving about inside and knowing she might be having a difficult time both corralling the incredibly active Will and tending to the roasting bird, he chipped a last fragment of ice from the aspen burl, and went inside

[icefire]

Looks like little Snorri will soon have a teething toy to chew on, once Einar gets it all carved and polished. Hopefully it will give the little guy some relief from teething pain...especially if they can rig up some sort of removable leather wrapping...pack a bit of snow between the wood and the leather wrapping, and the little one will have a nice chilled leather and wood teether.

[2medicine woman]

Thanks for another great update. That little Will is already a power house. Chomping away on an ice cold, raw grouse wing. LOL Too cute.

[felicia]

thanks for the latest chapters.

[FOTH]

Feb 22, 2014 21:52:52 GMT -6 icefire said:

Looks like little Snorri will soon have a teething toy to chew on, once Einar gets it all carved and polished. Hopefully it will give the little guy some relief from teething pain...especially if they can rig up some sort of removable leather wrapping...pack a bit of snow between the wood and the leather wrapping, and the little one will have a nice chilled leather and wood teether.

Yes, that ought to do very nicely. Will may have to wait until that grouse has been eaten, though, before he can expect Einar to make it for him. I think everyone is looking forward to the feast!

Feb 22, 2014 23:19:51 GMT -6 2medicine woman said:

Thanks for another great update. That little Will is already a power house. Chomping away on an ice cold, raw grouse wing. LOL Too cute.

Well, at least it isn't a raw wolverine! Though that may be coming next...

Feb 23, 2014 11:28:38 GMT -6 felicia said:

thanks for the latest chapters.

Thank you for reading.

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Even Will got a tiny taste of the roast grouse that served as supper for the little family that evening, Einar slipping him a bit of the crunchy, crispy skin and watching in delight as the chomped and chewed and tried to figure out what to do with it. Not enough teeth to do any serious eating yet, and Einar refrained from giving him any more, settling in with Liz to enjoy his own portion of the perfectly-roasted bird. A comfortable silence settled over the shelter as they ate, sound of the wind in the spruces overhead punctuated by an occasional crackle from the fire and the light of its flames—low now, mostly down to coals—dancing in mesmerizing patterns on the white inner walls of parachute cloth. A good evening, and the sort of thing which made Einar stop and remember that life really was a fine thing, a very fine thing indeed, and all of them more than blessed to be living it.

Always just a little behind on their eating since making the climb out of the canyon and working to build the shelter, Einar and Liz kept working on the grouse until practically nothing remained, bones all stacked neatly in the cooking pot where they would form the basis of the next day’s soup. Though full, content and beginning to grow rather sleepy, Liz did stir herself after a while to scoop up half a pot full of fresh snow and set it near the coals to begin melting, knowing they might be without daytime fire again come morning, and wanting to get a head start on stewing the bones. A good deal more nutrition, she knew, could be extracted from those bones by slowly simmering them for many hours, and she hoped to be able to keep the process going through the night by covering the pot, heaping some ashes around it and making a ring of coals atop those, a concept similar to the one employed in Dutch oven cooking.

Will had fallen asleep across his father’s legs, Einar looking pretty drowsy himself as he leaned back against the shelter wall with his eyes half closed and one grouse wing bone still grasped in both hands, picked entirely clean of anything even remotely edible but apparently still too valuable to set down. Liz put a hand on his shoulder so as not to startle him, gently freed the wing and added it to the pot.

“How about we contribute that to tomorrow’s soup? Looks like you’ve got a lot of good out of it already…”

A weary grin from Einar as he stretched, repositioned legs that had gone quite numb with little Will’s sleeping weight and wiped still-greasy hands on the small towel they had been using for such purposes. “Sure, guess you can have it now. You certainly are a fine roaster of grouse, Liz. That had to be about the best I’ve ever tasted.”

“Oh, you were just hungry.”

“Not hungry now. So full I can hardly keep my eyes open.”

“Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Sure, every now and then. Guess it might as well be bedtime though, wouldn’t you say?”

Liz thought that a fine idea, easing Will from Einar’s lap and into the sleeping bag for the night after changing his diaper. She then added more snow to the stew pot before joining Einar, who had hurried through his outdoor duties and was already half asleep with his back to the coals and their remaining glow.

Full of good, satisfying food and something approaching warm for the first time in quite a while with the energy it provided his under-nourished body, Einar ought to have slept well and soundly that night, but he did not. Kept waking to what he thought was the sound of a small plane close overhead, only to lie rigid and unmoving for long enough each time to realize that he must have imagined the aircraft’s presence. After the third such incident sleep proved elusive and he lay staring at the barely-glowing remains of the fire and going through the various possibilities in his mind, trying once more to puzzle out what could have been the purpose of the plane’s repeated visits to the area in past days.

Got no farther with such speculations than he had done previously, some sort of wildlife survey still remaining top on his list of possibilities—the ones, at least, which did not involve some sort of renewed search. Knew he had to consider those, as well. Really had to get over there and have a look for himself, see what sign the intruders had left on the expanse of open ground above the rim and, if people had remained, track, follow and find them so he could ascertain their purpose.

Einar knew there would be no rest for him until he had solved the riddle, but questioned himself as he lay there wide awake, wondering if this need actually had anything to do with the potential danger posed by the presence of others in their little piece of the high country, or if he might simply be seeking another challenge, as he seemed always to be doing. If that was the case, he knew he might do well to heed Liz’s pleading and give it a few more days, sit tight and see if any further cause was given for suspicion. Could well be that he’d just be putting them in more potential danger by going to scout about for the landing site. And—as Liz had been all too ready to point out of late—he might never make it back, should he undertake such a journey just then. Which wouldn’t have bothered him too much at all had he been alone, but with that little boy depending on him not only to help provide as he grew, but to teach him the ways of timber and mountain, it was a possibility which he knew he must not take as lightly as he might have preferred.

More time, then. Give it another day or two, as Liz had been suggesting, and see how things were going. Would not be an easy wait, but there were plenty of things with which to keep himself busy, managing the trapline, hauling firewood, making improvements to the shelter and searching for other sources of food. Domestic duties which might grate on the soul of a would-be wanderer, but so long as he kept himself busy enough, and tired enough—not a terribly difficult proposition, those days—the wait ought to be tolerable. Well. Time for sleep, then, some real, solid sleep so his body could make best use of the wonderfully nourishing meal with which he had that evening been so blessed, and if the dreams—or planes, or dreams of planes—wanted to come, let them come. The door was always nearby in such a small shelter as theirs, should it come to that.

With that Einar finally let go and allowed himself to drift off into an exhausted slumber, not knowing that the coming of morning would render his anticipated wait not only unnecessary, but entirely untenable.

[2medicine woman]

Einar actually gave concrete thought to his presence being needed as a Father and a teacher for his son. and...that thought stopped him from running outside to the cold and wind. He also evaluated his motives for going outside. wow, I think he might be healing some. Perhaps little Will is the catalyst that will help Einar heal his spirit.

Thank you for the new post. I miss the little family when you are off doing important mountain stuff. (or some such thing)

[FOTH]

2medicine woman--"Important Mountain Stuff..."

Yes, I do keep quite busy outside, this time of year. No chapter for tonight, but I will have one ready for tomorrow.

Thank you all for reading!

[FOTH]

Six. That was the number of plane-passes Einar counted, and that before daylight grew full in its strength. Wasn’t all the same plane, either. He could tell them apart by the sound of their engines, keeping tally on his fingers as he stared up at the dark ceiling, three in, three out for each plane, and something in the way they banked each time and the changing engine sounds told him they were not simply making overflights, but were landing.

The plane first had come while he was still sound asleep, having managed only in the dark hours of the early morning to slip into slumber, and in his dreams it had been not a single plane, but a convoy of heavy transport planes, and he knew exactly where they were going, and what their cargo would be… The thought had awakened him, left him lying there covered in sweat and ready for the action that he knew would soon and inevitably come, but so silent and unmoving that Liz had never even been aware of the situation, and it had taken him some time to realize where he really was, and the true nature of the planes. Only that did not help too much, for their real mission was still a mystery to him, some very focused and intensive thing which apparently involved repeated trips over to the big meadows on the far side of the canyon rim. Who or what were the delivering to their chosen spot, and with what purpose in mind? Now there was no question. He had to know, had to make that reconnaissance trip and, if the sudden activity presented a threat, to deal with it in one way or another. Even if that simply involved knowing which direction to move his family so they would not be in the path of whatever plans the enemy—if indeed these planes represented the enemy; they certainly represented a threat— might have in store.

Up and moving, then, Einar slipping quietly and with a speed and grace of movement possible for him those days only when inspired by the direst of circumstances, and he was out the door and into the timber before Liz became aware of his having stirred. Snow hard-crusted in the cold, he skimmed lightly over its surface, stopping beneath a cluster of firs and stilling his breath so he might hear any plane that was then approaching. Heard nothing, letting his breath out in a sigh of relief, tempered by the knowledge that the quiet was almost certain to be short-lived. Wasn’t sure what he had hoped to gain by leaving the shelter. Some better perspective, perhaps, on where the planes were going or what might be their intention. Not finding it, but the sharp, frigid air was a relief after feeling so stifled and breathless beneath those layers of log and parachute cloth, and he stood still for a full minute, breathing, slowing his mind and trying to discern which direction he needed to go. Not much question in his mind, really. Not after the activity of that morning. But he couldn’t just go. Had to discuss it with Liz. Which meant returning to the shelter, if only for a short time.

Liz was up when he got there, fire judiciously left cold and already a hasty breakfast prepared, broth from the night before, slightly icy but nourishing, and as Einar crouched beside the quiet firepit she draped his parka around his shoulders, offering him a bowl of the stuff. “You’d better eat. It’s going to be a busy day, isn’t it?”

Silence from Einar, face grim and angular in the uncertain light that crept in beneath the door. She hadn’t even lit a candle. Good move. Couldn’t risk it. “You heard them?”

“I heard four of them. How many were there?”

“Six. Six passes, two planes, I’m pretty sure. Lots of return trips, and just enough time in between to land and drop something, or someone, off on the canyon rim.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“Was going to wait, but I’ve got got make a trip over there now. We have to know whether this has anything to do with us or not, whether it presents a threat beyond having the planes fly over and maybe casually spot something we’d rather not have them see… Got to know.”

She nodded. “Yes. I know we do. Will and I would should come with you.”

“You’re safer here.”

“I could help you carry some moose, on the way back…”

“Not going after moose. Not this time. This is a quick trip over to the rim and along it in the trees, reconnaissance only, nothing more. Two days, maybe three, and I’ll be back here with you and Will, running the trapline.”

“Or packing to get out of here…”

“I sure hope not, but if it has to happen, it has to happen. Better to know that than to get caught off guard. If the planes quit coming, maybe you could run my trapline while I’m away? The tracks aren’t very deep with how crusty the snow has been, but they’re there. You’ll be able to follow them.”

“Yes, of course I can do that. Would still rather come, though.”

“It’s Will. Quiet as he tends to be when it really matters, we can’t count on that at his age, and the last thing we need is to have some camp full of wildlife guys or Forest Service men wonder why a baby is crying in the timber…”

“We could come most of the way and then hang back if it gets to the point where we actually find them and you need to get in close for a good look.”

“It’d be better for you to just stay here, where you’ve got good solid shelter, food, everything you need. For Will’s sake. I’m coming back. Not leaving you. Just need to go check this out.”

He had been working as he spoke, slipping into parka and hat and stowing a few things in the light day pack Bud had included in the drop bag, packing very lightly, Liz noted, in every category save weapons and ammunition… She sorter through their food supplies, added to the few items he had already packed.

“Yes, I know that will be best. Just don’t forget to eat, ok? Please. Don’t let yourself get back into those habits. You’re going to need your strength if you want to make it there and back, especially with all that downed timber you’ve got to cross.”

He smiled, gently laid a hand on her cheek, an unusual gesture for him. “I won’t forget. Serious business out there. Got to be ready for it.”

“What about your leg, though? It really hasn’t been right since the jump. I see how you limp, still.”

“Well, guess if they end up spotting any of my tracks, it should give them an interesting puzzle, make ‘em wonder if they got the right guy. Could be an advantage!”

“Einar! That’s not what I meant.”

“I know it. Leg’s fine. Won’t slow me down hardly at all.”

She wasn’t so sure about that, but saw no purpose in belaboring the point. “When do you plan to leave?”

“Right now. No sense delaying it. Think you’ll be ok here without a fire for two, three days?”

“We’ll manage just fine. I’ve got a lot of peanut butter and jerky and other things that don’t need cooking, and we have plenty of warm clothes, and the sleeping bag. Though I was hoping you might take it…”

Einar shook his head, laid one hand on the still-sleeping Will, the other on her shoulder, and was out the door.

[2medicine woman]

Thanks for the new post. Good stuff but not enough. Don't leave us hanging out here with no more info.

Liz loves Einar, we all know that but, sometimes she is like a Mother/babysitter in her actions and attitudes. He needs to work though his own problems. No matter how much you love someone and know them..we cannot read minds. This is his path. He has to walk it. Just my thoughts on it.

Stay warm.

[FOTH]

Mar 2, 2014 19:54:50 GMT -6 2medicine woman said:

Thanks for the new post. Good stuff but not enough. Don't leave us hanging out here with no more info.

Liz loves Einar, we all know that but, sometimes she is like a Mother/babysitter in her actions and attitudes. He needs to work though his own problems. No matter how much you love someone and know them..we cannot read minds. This is his path. He has to walk it. Just my thoughts on it.

Stay warm.

I think Einar would largely agree with you. But, it cannot be easy for Liz, knowing the right thing to do. He doesn't make it easy.

Thanks for reading!

_______________________________

When Einar left the little basin he did not waste any time, not wanting to be too near the shelter should one of those planes make another pass. Ahead of him, he knew, lay an arduous scramble through all the downed timber they had navigated to reach the place, no way around it so far as he had been able to determine, and he was anxious to put that terrain behind him. Intending to summit the ridge that rose high, rocky and timbered beyond the slopes of downed trees he angled upwards as he went, quickly pushing through the more navigable sections of tiny, gnarled aspen and larger spruce and fir which lay just beyond the low basin-ridge and slowing significantly as he began hauling himself up and over one wind-felled evergreen after another.

Slow work, frustrating as his legs fell time after time into crevices at whose existence he could only guess due to the depth of the snow and the way that, in many places, it completely concealed the existence of the logs which created the weaknesses in the snow’s surface. Rotten snow, spring snow, and as he traveled the winds came, pushing the frigid cold of the night out ahead of them and leaving the snow soggy on its surface wherever the sun happened to hit, rotten, in places, beneath, spring snow, and spring, Einar realized, was indeed coming.

Coming, but not yet here, and before long he was soaked to the skin from the waist down with struggling through that wet snow, clothing that had worked well during the colder months failing him now that the many feet of Styrofoam-like powder over and through which he had made his way all winter were beginning to go wet and rotten around him. Some two hours—and not even a mile in distance—from the shelter he stopped, arms crossed on the partially exposed carcass of a large fallen aspen and breath rasping in his throat as he strove to drive back the increasingly pervasive black bulk that billowed up at him from all sides, threatening to obscure his vision entirely. He had known the journey would not be easy, remembered, in some shadowy sense, the amount of work it had required of them the first time around, but now with the changing snow conditions the task had taken on an air of near-impossibility which might ordinarily have challenged Einar in a way he both enjoyed and needed, but that day it only stood in the way of his reaching his goal.

Resting, forehead on the snowy aspen trunk and breaths beginning to return to normal, Einar counted in his mind the number of times he’d heard the planes between the shelter and that spot. Four, it seemed. Two by each plane. The first time he’d dived beneath a tight-growing cluster of firs, pressing himself into the ground as the aircraft buzzed overhead and waiting for a full minute after its sound died away into the distance before rising again and continuing, repeating the action each time and praying he was as well-concealed as he believed. The planes continued to puzzle him, their purpose remaining a mystery. Had they been directly related to some renewed search effort, he would have expected to see helicopters by that point, which to his great relief he had not done. Yet they certainly had some major project underway over on the canyon rim, and it was there he knew he must journey, and without further delay. Yeah. Get moving, you and your lazy bones. Can rest when you get there. Lots of chance to rest while you’re lying low and watching them, but this is really getting out of control, here. Too many trips in and out. Something major going on, and you need to know what it is.

With which he did indeed begin moving once more, leg giving out with the first step, but he very soon had it back under him again and was making good progress through the tangled mess that served as barrier between himself and faster travel towards his objective. Leg had, as Liz had noted, been bothering him some ever since the jump, and as he continued through the windfall area it ached and twisted and generally made a nuisance of itself, but he did not allow the fact to slow his progress. Too much. Doggone thing sure did hurt, though.

Several hours and three additional plane-passes later—that last one had never returned, odd, not fitting with the previous pattern—Einar finally reached a place where the deadfall timber really began tapering off, movement not nearly as cumbersome and slow, and though he had by then been at it most of the day, and a long day, at that, he found himself overjoyed and not a little surprised at what he considered to be his quick progress. He remembered slogging through that deadfall the first time, when he and Liz had just completed their arduous climb up out of the canyon, and had known he would be doing very well indeed if he managed to repeat it before darkness set in. And here he was with at least two hours of daylight remaining! A silent prayer—too weary for words, and besides, he seemed to have lost his voice; probably something to do with his throat being so parched—breathed from his lips at the realization, Einar going to his knees on the hard-crusted snow beneath a good-sized spruce. The first time, he realized, that he’d let himself get off his feet since leaving the shelter. And probably not a good way to remain for more than moments, if he meant to make good use of his remaining daylight.

Up again, pausing only for a swallow of water from the supply he’d packed—must remember to keep adding snow to that bottle so it could melt as he walked, ensuring a continuing supply of water—Einar set his course more steeply up the slope that swept long and timber-studded to the sky above him, its crest invisible for the closeness of the trees and the nature of such terrain, but definitely there, looming above him, calling. Meant to make that crest before dark, if he could, hoping to be able to see something of the large meadows above the canyon rim from that vantage, come morning. Einar’s speed, as he made his way up the ridge in a series of tight little switchbacks, surprised him somewhat, weary and—though he hated admitting it—physically weak as he had been feeling, of late. Must be all that good food Liz kept doing her best to keep him eating, he reasoned. That, or the sheer pressing urgency of the thing that drove him on, reinforced at semi-regular intervals by the passing of the planes. Or some combination of the two.

Whatever the cause, he was thankful for his speed, for the somewhat unaccustomed strength that he felt in limb and lung as he climbed, and it was with a gladness approaching elation that he reached the ridge’s crest slightly ahead of full dark, knowing the place both by the abrupt ending of the steep ascent which had until then been his constant companion, and by the stars he now could see gleaming off in the distance—below his feet. The top, for sure, and despite a wild urge to keep moving, to go until his objective was reached and some plan of action solidified in his mind, he knew wisdom dictated that he go no further that night. Likely as not he would, without better lighting, end up dreadfully off course, finding himself upon the coming of dawn with a good deal of backtracking to do, simply to return to a spot from which he might see the land and get some idea of which direction he needed to go.

The end, then, at least for that day, and taking one backwards glance over his shoulder at the slopes below him, blackness-swallowed, indiscernable, he raised his hand in temporary farewell to Liz and Will, protect them, bring them safely though the night, and dropped down over the ridge crest to find a place where he might pass the dark hours.