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Post by FOTH on Apr 20, 2014 16:00:25 GMT -6
Christ is risen!
I want to wish everyone a blessed Easter, today.
No chapter tonight, but I will have one for tomorrow.
Thanks to all of you who are reading.
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Post by FOTH on Apr 21, 2014 15:49:22 GMT -6
Several miles Einar had traveled in his quest to get up and out of the canyon without being detected by anyone who might have responded to the bat scientists’ radio call, and though he had as of yet seen no sign of any such presence, his caution was not diminished. Last thing he wanted was to lead anyone back towards the shelter, and his family. Now, flat on his belly on a slab of sun-warmed limestone he studied the canyon floor with binoculars, careful to keep the glasses well beneath the shade of an overhanging limber pine so there would be no chance of giving away his existence—let alone his position—with a flash.
Nothing. Nothing but the slow, meandering course of the creek as it threaded its way between clumps of still-leafless willow and red osier dogwood, blinking and flashing occasionally as it foamed over rocks and beaver-felled trees. Quiet down there, no movement save the wind in the marsh-grasses that were already springing up green and impossibly brilliant along the watercourse, waves of white as it passed through their midst. The sight was mesmerizing, sun warm on his back and Einar kept his watch for quite some time, muscles relaxing under the gentle and persistent ministrations of the sun and body finally warming to a degree that it no longer needed to tremble just to generate sufficient heat to keep vital systems operating. Tired. Didn’t let himself feel it very often, didn’t dare, but now the full force of the thing hit him and before long it was all he could do to keep the binoculars steady and prevent his head from drooping, eyes closing, sleep coming. Like a reptile, you are. Big goofy lizard soaking up the sun. Quit it. Can’t be falling asleep now.
Rolling to his side he sat up, scooted over into the shade of the limber pine, not trusting himself to remain awake should he stay in the sun. It was then, changing position so that he was looking down from a bit higher perspective, that the movement caught his eye. At first he thought it was simply an unusually strong gust of wind parting the shiny, light-reflecting stems of the swam grasses along the creek, but when he took a second look it was plain that the movement originated somewhat beyond both the creek and the boundary of the grass, in the scrub oak up the other side of the canyon.
Binoculars quickly settled the matter, two human forms coming sharply into focus as they struggled up through the brush, heading for a steep rockslide that extended some hundred and fifty feet up from the canyon floor. He could not tell at first whether these were the two who had surprised him upon waking, could not, he was somewhat alarmed to discover, call up in his mind the exact detail of the clothing worn by those two, but several minutes’ observation and a better look at their packs and gear confirmed their identities. Good news, he could only surmise, that there did not appear to be additional people in the canyon. The pair had perhaps decided it was too difficult to climb out of the canyon on the side they’d been trying, and were returning to camp to go about it another day, or another way, or both.
Seemed then that he might be safe to begin the long walk which would take him up along the entire length of the rim and back to the shelter, and his family. Einar, weary, aching and by then having been without food for rather longer than he could really afford under present circumstances, would have liked to take the situation at face value and start walking, but he knew better, considering what was at stake. Really ought to devote two or three days to keeping watch on his back trail and on the situation back at the rim-camp, make sure no helicopters were brought in, no search dogs in the canyon, and only after that time decide he was safe to head home without worrying about pursuers on his trail. Fact remained that he had been seen, and even if the scientists had not realized just who they’d stumbled across in the canyon that morning—must not have, or the choppers would already be swarming the place—someone else might realize later, when they told the story back in camp.
Which, if you think about it, is a real strong argument for getting out of here without further delay, getting out while you still can. Be way too easy to get boxed in here in this sort of terrain, especially if they somehow run you back down into the canyon. Could be the end of you, and even if you know you’d put up a good fight, make a good end and don’t mind the idea too much…well, Liz and that little boy are kinda counting on you to come back. That’s how you left things with them. That you’d come back. In the interest of making it back, you’d better be moving pretty quickly here, taking reasonable precautions about your backtrail but not waiting around for a search to start.
Uninterested in spending any more time arguing with himself, Einar retreated from his limestone ledge, and started out. Knew he’d have to be careful traversing the rim on that side, both because of the camp full of people on the opposite rim who might spot him if he didn’t keep himself well back from the horizon, and the as-yet unidentified towers with their mysterious antennae that he and Liz had seen spring up during their first visit to the canyon. Would have to work his way between the rim and the area potentially covered by the towers, careful not to pass too close to either danger.
Much of the rest of the day was taken up with travel, Einar not moving with tremendous speed due to the necessity of caution, but making good progress nonetheless, so that by the time the sun began dipping towards the horizon, he was no more than a mile from being parallel to the biologists’ camp. Here beneath a cluster of limber pines he sat down for his first real rest since being startled awake that morning and ending up momentarily immobile in the presence of his potential enemies. A shudder at the memory, knuckles pressed to his temple as if to push back the persistent headache which remained as souvenir of the unpleasant incident as he slid the pack from his back and took a seat, back to one of the trees. Quiet. Everything quiet around him as he rested, and his thoughts turned to Liz, and to Will, a weary smile creeping over his face. Would be seeing them soon. If all went well.
Must have been the miles covered that day. Or the time spent lying under the rocks as he observed the camp two days prior, or on the limestone ledge that morning. Couldn’t know for sure but Einar did know that his legs just weren’t working properly when he got up to move on from his rest spot, to cover another mile or two before dark. Had for the past hour or so been resorting to physically lifting his legs up and over logs and other obstacles with his arms at times, an exhausting routine whose necessity he had tried at first to avoid by simply applying more focus to the act of walking, had hoped that, and the rest, would be enough to set him straight. It had not worked, muscles simply refusing to respond in the way he would have expected and he falling more than once when his upper body ended up traveling forward more quickly than his legs could manage to keep up with. Frustrating, especially when his arms, too, began wearing out, shaking uncontrollably from the effort of lifting his legs time after time. Not working. Not the way a person was intended to move, and though he kept telling himself the trouble had to be almost entirely in his head, laziness of some form, failure to apply himself and surely something he could overcome with enough effort, his efforts seemed to be producing no appreciable results.
Needed water. Had forgotten about water since the events of that morning, and perhaps this could explain in large measure his current difficulty. No water up there on the rim, not that he had yet discovered, but there was snow, and choosing a clean-looking bank in the partial shadow of a stark-branched aspen grove he lowered himself to his belly on the ground before it, pressing cupped palms into the soft, mossy soil and waiting for them to fill with melt-water. Did not take long, and the stuff tasted good, so good that he repeated the process several times, pausing between just to breathe and to rest his forehead against the good cool, damp ground. Smelled of life, that ground did, awakening life as things thawed and seeped and the soil came alive with shoots and plants and growing things, and he grinned at the thought of it, took another long drink and got up.
Tried to get up. Leg muscles apparently weren’t the only ones not wanting to cooperate, and it took him several minutes and a bit of quick strategizing before he was able to get his legs under him, and rise. Well. Simple solution to that one. He simply wouldn’t do any more lying down. Mustn’t do any more, and though he did his best to put the thought aside as he started off along the rim once more, he really didn’t know if he had it in him to make that return trip, now.
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Post by icefire on Apr 21, 2014 16:51:59 GMT -6
He is risen indeed!
I don't suppose that it has occured to Einar that not only was he severely dehydrated, but he needs to EAT, as well, so that his body has the energy it needs to continue functioning. Now, if he happens to have some of that moose meat in his pack, he can definitely solve THAT particular problem...that is, IF it happens to occur to him!
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Post by biggkidd on Apr 23, 2014 20:07:14 GMT -6
Your writing is amazing! I have read the whole set of stories over the last few weeks and kept spell bound the entire time. Anxiously awaiting what happens next. Thank you for posting your stories for all to read.
It will be nice to see just how little Will turns out and I have a hope that Muninn (sp) makes it back to be a part of the family again.
Also I haven't forgotten that Bud seemed to have some leadership plans for Einar. Wonder if they will bare fruit?
THANKS FOR A GREAT READ!!!
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Post by gipsysmith on Apr 24, 2014 11:22:19 GMT -6
I keep hoping that Enir will get smart enough to go make a life for the family.
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Post by FOTH on Apr 25, 2014 15:06:37 GMT -6
He is risen indeed!I don't suppose that it has occured to Einar that not only was he severely dehydrated, but he needs to EAT, as well, so that his body has the energy it needs to continue functioning. Now, if he happens to have some of that moose meat in his pack, he can definitely solve THAT particular problem...that is, IF it happens to occur to him! That would probably be a big help, should such a thought enter his mind. Guess he's getting to a point where energy is in rather short supply. Your writing is amazing! I have read the whole set of stories over the last few weeks and kept spell bound the entire time. Anxiously awaiting what happens next. Thank you for posting your stories for all to read. It will be nice to see just how little Will turns out and I have a hope that Muninn (sp) makes it back to be a part of the family again. Also I haven't forgotten that Bud seemed to have some leadership plans for Einar. Wonder if they will bare fruit? THANKS FOR A GREAT READ!!! Thanks for reading! Glad you've been enjoying the stories. Yes, Bud had/has some plans for Einar--but of course he'd have to find Einar again before he could try to go any further with those! I keep hoping that Enir will get smart enough to go make a life for the family. What would that entail? ___________________ Dusk having fallen and a small fire well concealed inside the shelter, Liz and Will enjoyed the rabbit, Liz savoring the meat and Will having little tastes of the broth in which it had been boiled. He was old enough, she had decided, for an introduction to such things, now that he had begun sprouting teeth. Will could not have been more delighted—unless she’d given him the entire rabbit on which to gnaw. “Later, little guy. Give it some time. You need a few more teeth before you’re ready to tackle a whole rabbit, don’t you think?” Will shrieked in reply, a happy sound if perhaps not one of complete agreement, turned his attention from the rabbit, which was by that time largely reduced to bones, to the fire. Fi, fi, he repeated, watching with fascination the dancing, changing light of its flames. The fire, Liz was not certain Einar would have approved. The decision had not been made lightly or without some trepidation, as she knew the planes—quiet now for a day and a half—might return in the night and possibly see the heat signature, but in the end she had decided the risk worth taking. Not only would the fire provide them some much-appreciated relief from the cold which still held the high country fairly firmly in its grasp, it would allow her to prepare a good broth from the rabbit bones, which could be saved in a cooler part of the shelter for another day. For Einar’s return, she hoped. Soon. Stretching her palms over the flames she felt a bit badly for wanting the fire’s warmth, for enjoying it, when Einar was without doubt spending another cold night under a tree somewhere. Silly, she knew. He would want her to enjoy the fire, if she was to have it in the first place, would want her to take full advantage of its flames for cooking, heat and any other tasks that needed doing. Like heating water to wash Will’s diapers, and filling the second, smaller pot with snow and adding a bit of water to get it started melting, she began doing just that. The task had been difficult at times, especially when they’d been on the move, but she’d got the routine down reasonably well and no longer found it overwhelming. It paid to keep everything very simple in the kind of life they were living, and so long as she made sure to always have a couple diapers drying on the outside of her parka or Einar’s pack, she found that she could keep up with the job, even while traveling. Good to know. If she could do that, she figured she could do most anything, really. * * *
Einar’s doubt about his ability to continue with the trek was not long-lived. He had never sat down and refused to continue with a journey once started, and this was to be no exception, no matter the apparent weakness of limb and exhaustion of body which were stalking him, aggravating as those things might be, and much as they might push a man towards a sense of despair, even if he consciously rejected any such surrender. Just have to deal with this stuff. Shouldn’t come as any surprise. It’s the natural result of…starving one’s self to the degree you’ve done. Body has been forced to consume a lot of its skeletal muscle for energy just to stay alive, and now you don’t have a whole lot left. You knew that, have watched it happen. Where did you think that would lead, in the end?
This, he said silently but with great vehemence, refuting himself, is not the end. Doesn’t get to be the end, because you’ve got a watch to keep and then when your real sure you’re not being followed, a lot of miles to cover. Situation is what it is. Might have hoped it would be a little better after all those meals you were having before leaving on this little adventure, but fact is they just weren’t enough to really get you headed in the right direction, and now you’ve been traveling and climbing and living out in the cold pretty much non-stop for the last…what is it? Three days? And so here you are, and you’re just going to have to find a way to keep moving, keep going.A rabbit would help, he figured. If he had time to stop and try to take one. So would a few pounds of that moose meat. Too bad he’d been in such a hurry to leave the canyon that morning, with no time to stop at the cache site and fill his pack. Or even hack off more of the quarter he’d had by his sleeping spot the night before. Had barely dared return for pack and pistol with those men close on his heels as he’d thought they might be, and the moose quarter would have slowed him down and perhaps meant his capture, had he insisted on trying to pack it out. Wished he’d at least had the foresight to carve off some of the meat and stow it in his pack before falling asleep that past evening, but seemed such tasks—let alone the planning required to carry them out—had been rather beyond him at that time. He shivered, caught himself against a nearby aspen. Had been about to fall. Must not fall. Must not stand there lost in thought any longer, either. What he needed was movement. Needed to take another look at the canyon floor first though, and keeping to the evergreens he approached the rim, lowered himself to a crouch which—considering the rising ground behind him—would keep his silhouette well below the skyline without his having to lie down and struggle for the next several minutes to rise again. No movement in the canyon, nothing amiss either to the naked eye or through binoculars, and hoping he was right in taking this as a sign that he was not presently being pursued. Seemed reasonably safe to move on, so long as he paused frequently to survey the valley and his own back trail. Which was another matter he’d better be watching very closely. Mustn’t leave a trail at all, with the possibility that men might, sooner or later, be looking for one. Was doing pretty well so far, he believed, having been able to keep mostly to the resilient, needle-covered ground beneath the evergreens and leaving little mark as he passed. Once he worked his way up higher into the still-snowy country, this task would take on additional difficulty. Well. One step at a time. Was about all he could seem to manage just then, anyhow. Stumbling. Stopping. Losing momentum. What you need, he told himself, is a goal. Landmark. Pick one. Now. That scraggly, sideways-leaning spruce perched on a rocky outcropping some two hundred yards beyond his current position looked like a good landmark, so he chose it, glancing up every few steps to make sure it was still in his field of view. Helped, having that solid object as his destination, and when he reached it, placed his hands on its rough trunk and rested for a moment, it was with a great sense of gratitude, and of hope. Almost dusk. Time to stop soon, lest he risk leaving tracks and not even knowing it, traveling in the dark. Not quite that dark yet. Give it a few minutes. Next landmark, then. That tower up there, with all the antennas. That was distinctive. That was… Einar started as if wakened from a dream. That was a problem, that’s what it was! |
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Post by 2medicine woman on Apr 25, 2014 23:40:42 GMT -6
ah ha.. the towers! Perhaps he will figure out what they are for. or perhaps it will provide some kind of food and shelter. Endless possibilities in Einar's travels. Sounds like Liz and Will are doing ok. That little guy sure is a curious boy. He is smart too. Although most single children do advance quicker than multi-child households.
Thanks for the new post. I hope your spring is going well for you. We are actually getting sun and temps above freezing. LOL My back is slowly returning to usable again. Dang thing!
tok'sa ake my friend.
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Post by FOTH on Apr 28, 2014 8:52:18 GMT -6
ah ha.. the towers! Perhaps he will figure out what they are for. or perhaps it will provide some kind of food and shelter. Endless possibilities in Einar's travels. Sounds like Liz and Will are doing ok. That little guy sure is a curious boy. He is smart too. Although most single children do advance quicker than multi-child households. Thanks for the new post. I hope your spring is going well for you. We are actually getting sun and temps above freezing. LOL My back is slowly returning to usable again. Dang thing! tok'sa ake my friend. Glad your back is starting to return to normal, twomedicinewoman. Quite a hassle when one can't move as well as one is used to doing. Yes, spring is going well, the aspens are leafing out, thigns starting to green up--and we got snow last night! That's what spring is like, here in the mountains.  Thanks for reading! _____________________ Glad he had not in his half-dazed state wandered out into the more open, aspen-covered ground that lay between his current position in the heavier timber and the tower he’d almost picked as his next landmark towards which to strive, Einar forced himself to crouch, wait, consider his next move before taking another step. The various antennae affixed to the tower remained as mysterious to him as the day he’d watched the men on snowmobiles put them up, not exactly like anything he’d seen before. Not too surprising, he supposed, as he was inevitably several years out-of-date on all such technology and the many forms it might take. Perhaps these were some new form of cell phone antenna, or even devices used by the bat researchers to increase their ability to track study subjects. Or perhaps not. Fact was, he really had no way to be certain, and without more information dared pass nowhere near the series of towers. Was too close already. Yet, curiosity called to him, told him thee would never be a better opportunity to assess the installations and hopefully determine something of their purpose, the level of threat they presented to should he and Liz return at some time to the canyon. Without knowing the purpose of the towers or the abilities possessed by any sensors that might exist alongside their strange array of antennae, though, it was difficult to know how best to approach the things. One wrong move, and he could find himself in far more trouble than he’d already got into down in the canyon. Did not need that. Could not afford it, especially as he was now hoping to begin working his way closer to the shelter, and his family. Not an easy decision, yet he certainly couldn’t stay here in the timber all day, crouching on the damp ground and finding himself increasingly weighed down by his own pack, pressed into the ground. He rose, hauling himself up with the help of two spruces and standing there for what must have been several minutes peering out at the nearest tower, debating with himself, and winning. Ha! Winning, is it? How can you tell? Surely winning would involve both remaining undetected and getting a real close look at that tower over there, settling as well as you could what it means. Instead here you are backing down from a challenge and planning a route that will keep you as far from the thing as possible. Doesn’t sound a whole lot like winning, to me.
Unwilling to start the debate all over again—it was a risk vs. benefit thing, and the risk of approaching the towers was too great in this case—he shook his head, started off into the black timber which stretched away from the rim, the towers, and the open area which lay between. He would skirt around the thing, around all of them, give them a wide berth and hope to avoid detection in a place which would give his pursuers, if indeed there ended up being pursuers, a definite clue as to his chosen course after the sighting in the canyon. Only trouble with this plan—well, aside from the fact that it added many miles to his trek and took him through an area where the snow had not begun melting out in the spring sunshine and would in places remain quite deep—was that it severed his contact with the canyon, his ability to lie periodically on its rim and check for activity down below, for any sign that things had been stirred up, additional men arrived after being contacted on the biologists’ radio, and that a search had commenced. Well. Couldn’t have everything. He’d just have to make the best possible time through the timber, get past the towers and then work his way once again close to the rim where he could get a look. Entire thing was looking pretty tenuous, anyway, the way his muscles kept betraying him and leaving him all but immobile for minutes at a time until he could somehow manage to scrape together a bit more energy, but at least this way, he would be reducing his chances of being seen. That, he told himself, was the important thing. The one that really counted. Food might also count. If he could find some. Might give him a better chance of actually getting home again, rather than simply avoiding detection and dying out in the timber after a few days, too exhausted to raise his body from the ground for more walking and rather too far gone to know the difference. Yeah. It’s come to that. May not have a few days, even. May be talking about hours, the way things are going. May happen the next time you sit down. Which would not do, and the thought of it—impediment that the possibility of such an end presented to his securing the canyon and returning to his family—angered him just enough to clear his mind some and lend a solid if surely temporary strength to his failing limbs. Had to find food. Shouldn’t be so difficult. This was what he did, what he’d done for years, and the mountain always provided, one way or another. If one was truly looking, rather than…whatever he’d been doing, for so long. So, Einar looked. Not much in the immediate area, no sign of recent rabbit or squirrel activity, and even had he seen such, he hardly had time to stop and do any hunting or trapping. Which left the trees. He had, in the past—desperate times that first winter when he’d had little else for a while—stripped spruces for the slightly sweet, minimally nourishing inner bark layer, the cambium which carried sap and which he had rendered slightly more digestible by first roasting it to crispness over a fire. Spruce bacon, he’d jokingly called the stuff, and he was pretty sure it had helped to sustain him through those difficult times. Not even spruce bacon, though, was looking like much of an option. He could hardly afford leaving scars on the trees which might be seen by any potential pursuer, and a fire for roasting any bark he did manage to obtain was quite thoroughly out of the question. Nothing, then, but now he’d made up his mind to find something to eat, Einar was not willing to accept that nothing could be found. He looked up. Got dizzy, lost his place and fell hard against the nearest spruce, scrabbling at its bark with his hands in an attempt to avoid going all the way down. Failed, fell, lay on his back on the damp earth, laughing silently until the tears began rolling down his cheeks and he could hardly get his breath, for one hand was full of the wiry, light green strands of a large clump of usnea lichen. Of course. He’d eaten the stuff before, had repeatedly filled his stomach with it that first winter and a few times since, and could do so again. Probably even less digestible than the inner bark of a spruce in its un-soaked, un-cooked state, at least the pale green, hair-like lichen had the advantage of appearing in great abundance and being easily collectible, as demonstrated by his accidental gathering of the stuff. Starting with what he already had in his hand, Einar began his dubious if filling feast, letting the lichen sit in his mouth to soften before even attempting any chewing. Bitingly bitter and the texture of steel wool if, thankfully, at least not metallic, the stuff was not immediately satisfying, but he knew that with enough quantity of it would come at least a few carbohydrates and the energy, he could only hope, to continue his journey. Which continuation, he knew, must start with his somehow managing to get up off his back. No success at this simple endeavor and a good deal of frustration after several failed attempts, but finally after rolling over onto his stomach and using all his strength he succeeded, hurrying to fill his pockets with the wispy strands of usnea lichen that hung in great abundance from nearby spruce branches and trunks. Time to move on. Must work his way around those towers, and if he kept working away at his new supply of food as he went, things might just work out, it seemed. Especially if he could find some secondary source of energy to supplement the dry, bitter lichen… |
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Post by 2medicine woman on Apr 28, 2014 14:18:02 GMT -6
I hope Einar can get enough carbs to get him moving until he finds more edible items. Under the "rotten" snow, could there be small green shoots? Once in a while I find some there. -- It is amazing how the Creator fills Einar's needs. When he is down to almost nothing, something arrives to nurture him, warm him, protect him, etc. I see God in all his travels. I hope if nothing else ever comes out of your great stories, that the reader will recognize the blessings they have been given. Roof, water, warmth, food, family, friends and coffee.  Thank you for another addition. I appreciate the effort and time you use to share your writings with us. 2medicine woman |
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Post by FOTH on May 2, 2014 17:29:46 GMT -6
I hope Einar can get enough carbs to get him moving until he finds more edible items. Under the "rotten" snow, could there be small green shoots? Once in a while I find some there. -- It is amazing how the Creator fills Einar's needs. When he is down to almost nothing, something arrives to nurture him, warm him, protect him, etc. I see God in all his travels. I hope if nothing else ever comes out of your great stories, that the reader will recognize the blessings they have been given. Roof, water, warmth, food, family, friends and coffee. Thank you for another addition. I appreciate the effort and time you use to share your writings with us. 2medicine woman Thank you, 2medicinewoman. I'm glad the Creator's providence is made visible through Einar's stories.  _______________________ Unbeknownst to Einar as he started off into the deeper timber, the course he’d chosen in his effort to give the towers a wide berth would, itself, end up providing him the food he so badly needed for the continuation of his journey. All he knew at the moment was that the handful of coarse, bitter lichen he’d managed to choke down seemed to be having some beneficial effect, filling his stomach and lending him an energy which, if not what he might have expected from a more nutritionally-dense sort of snack, certainly went a long way in contrast to what he’d had before. The tower. He could just see it over the tops if the nearest trees. Too close, and he altered his course, retreated several yards further into the timber. Must not lose his sense of where the thing lay, even if his path did take him out of sight of it for time to time, for he had the sense that to accidentally step out of the trees in too close proximity to all those new sensors and antennae might prove a fatal mistake. Hard to say who might be watching, or how quickly they would be able to mount a response, should they see something that caught their interest. A clearing ahead, snow mostly gone in its center, exposing grass matted down with the white, spider web-like netting of snow fungus which often marked the retreat of the snowpack. Already he could see the vibrant green spears of avalanche lilies piercing the damp soil beneath, thriving on the abundant moisture of the melting snow. Soon—weeks, still, but soon—those shoots would rise and grow and burst forth with a riot of yellow flowers as they took full advantage of the alpine spring, a carpet of gold covering the meadow. No flowers yet, but there were, Einar knew, roots beneath those shoots, and though perhaps not in their prime in that season, a handful of the things would certainly provide him more energy than the lichen had done. Advancing cautiously, Einar reached the edge of the meadow and stood alert, listening, needing those lily roots but unwilling to step out onto the open ground of that meadow. Some rules simply must not be violated when one is existing under questionable circumstances, and that was one of the more important among them. Still, there were some lilies growing around the edges, and though not showing themselves as clearly as the ones whose heads were already above the soil, they revealed to Einar their positions by the little mounds of soil that were raised above them as they worked their way towards the surface. Subtle clues, and ones which showed up far better from the ground level, so Einar lowered himself to the ground, knowing that it would be a struggle for him to rise again but counting the information thus gained worth the effort. Dozens of lilies, even there in the shadows of the trees, and creeping backwards on his stomach Einar searched out a digging stick, found one in a strong, barkless stub of a dead spruce branch which he broke from the tree and hastily sharpened before beginning his task. Had to go carefully, not disturb the soil any more than was absolutely necessary lest he leave clues for potential pursuers, but the roots of the lilies were deep, not near the surface like those of the similarly-provident spring beauty plant—too bad none of them were around, as the two plants often shared territory, but he saw no sign of the second—but sometimes as far as a foot down, growing sideways in the soil. Too bad he wasn’t a bear, Einar could not help but think, so he could simply dig and shred and free the soil of its bounty of roots, but he was no bear, and must take more care not to leave sign. Digging carefully with his sharpened stick, he soon found the soil there in the shadows of the timber to be still frozen not four inches down, disappointing if not terribly surprising, seeing that the snow had so recently departed and the spot received very little sunlight. Squinting, striving mostly without success to bring his eyes into focus—vision had seemed to be growing worse over the past days, and the realization of how quickly the thing seemed to be advancing disturbed him—he scanned the far edge of the clearing, searching for shoots and trying to assess whether those spots might receive enough sunlight to make the digging easier. Difficult to tell for certain, but it appeared not. Must move out into the open, then, if he wanted some of those roots, but instead of doing so, Einar raised himself wearily to hands and knees, and again retreated into the timber. Defeat. Not a good thing, especially when one is struggling so hard to begin with, but not an unaccustomed one, either. He would move on. Find another food source. He hoped. Would try to move on, at least. Seemed to be trapped for the moment, and when he sought out the cause of his seeming inability to leave the immediate vicinity, it was to discover that he’d accidentally crawled smack into the middle of a cluster of wild rose bushes. Shaking his head and laughing silently—he’d experienced a brief moment of near-panic at the thought that he might finally have reached the end of his strength, and rendered himself at last entirely incapable of meaningful movement—he sought to free himself, working carefully at the brambles. Not only brambles, he discovered as he worked, for the bushes were in places dotted with clusters of last year’s rose hips, withered and faded by fall frosts and a winter under the snow, but still there, still, he knew from prior experience, containing a fair amount of sugar in the dried remains of the fruit, and oil in the large seeds which filled their centers. Forgetting for the moment his need to be free of the thorns Einar devoted his entire attention to filling his pockets with the shriveled fruits, almost forgetting in the process to fill his mouth, as well. Not terribly sweet were the fruits when at last he remembered to eat some, many of them sour and a bit fermented-tasting after their warm fall days on the vine, but he did not mind, knew that some sugar would remain available to him despite the ongoing process of decay. Before long—even before he’d exhausted the readily available supply of rose hips—Einar could indeed begin to feel their energy working in him, steadying hand and sharpening vision which had been going increasingly blurry, and given this newfound strength he again surveyed the lily-meadow, this time seeing detail—and hope—that he had not been able to notice before. While the meadow-edges were almost universally in shadow due to the trees, there was one spot roughly opposite his present position where the timber thinned out, having allowed more sunlight to reach the ground. He could tell by the advanced melting of the snow on that side, white strands of snow-fungus already beginning to disappear as they did after a certain time out in the sunlight and the lily shoots on that side higher even than the ones near the meadow’s center. Best of all was his discovery of a large, sloping granite boulder that lay on the edge of the meadow in this area, mostly submerged in soil and with its surface angled down towards the ground, reflecting sunlight and likely explaining the advanced state of growth in the lilies around it. To Einar, the boulder meant a way to access the lilies without leaving too much sign as he lay on the ground digging, an important need and one which had been lacking on the side of the meadow which he had first approached. Rising—still difficult, muscles locking up painfully in protest, but not refusing this time to bear his weight—he finished freeing himself from the rose brambles, and set off skirting the meadow through the trees, ready to fill his pack with lily roots and continue on his journey. Going home. |
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Post by 2medicine woman on May 3, 2014 0:22:36 GMT -6
Yeah! Avalanche lilies and rose hips! Some sugar in those to keep Einar moving. Actually rose hips make great tea. Although probably not last year's crop will make very good tea. Never experimented with that. Nice to see another post in this continuous journey. I personally, really appreciate the fact that you still post for those of us who have an Einar & family obsession. Also, thank you for the latest post. Never boring. As I age, I rather like living a boring routine. |
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Post by FOTH on May 5, 2014 16:08:04 GMT -6
I have been out of town, am back now, and will have a chapter ready for tomorrow. Thank you all for your patience! |
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