“I haven't been camping since I was a boy.” Marken

On a hill among medium-sized trees, Chic and Faith gathered limbs and built a crackling fire. To the north, Marken drew water from a stream, transporting it in a waterproof sack Besh had supplied. Fitting over a metal frame; Marken carried frame and sack together, waddling with extreme care so as not to spill his labor. Faith looked up and laughed.

Chic asked, “Have you seen Sposh?”

Nodding over his shoulder, Marken answered, “At the stream. Said he wanted to do some fishing.”

Chic ran down the hill with a giggle. Marken set the water down and steadied the frame. Looking up with a smile, he said, “Water, my lady.”

Striking a limb with the borrowed hatchet, Faith said, “Don't get weird. I have an ax. Bring some wood over.”

Marken said, “I haven't been camping since I was a boy.”

Besh walked into the camp laden with large green leaves. He struggled with a sizable bundle and dropped it away from the flying sparks. Meeting the curious eyes of Marken and Faith, he said, “Bedding.”

Faith stood and asked, “You have something in your bag? Blankets?”

“Sorry,” said Besh. “I'm not a walking five and dime. Where're our short and hairy friends?”

Marken answered, “Down by the stream.”

Placing a heavy stone on his bundle, Besh said, “There's a wind coming out of the west.”

Chic and Sposh came into camp giggling softly, heads bent together. Chic held three large tubers by their stems while Sposh carried five medium-sized fish on the shaft of his spear. They dropped the roots and fish by the fire, looking into each other's eyes as they tried not to giggle. 

Faith said, “You lovebirds can share the joke.”

Chic looked up and said happily, “Who knew Sposh could fish?”

Sposh answered, “I knew.”

Handing the hatchet to Besh, Faith said to the group at large, “We have food, water, and a fire.” She faced Besh, then continued, “Now, if we only had a skillet.”

With a short chuckle, Besh stooped to retrieve a small stick and skewer a fish. He held it out to Faith and said, “Best I can do.”

Faith said, “Then, I trust you men know how to cook.” She took Chic and the spear Sposh held, and said over a shoulder as she and Chic walked away, “Camp ladies need to wash.”

Marken called to Faith as she and Chic walked down the hill, “But, we have water here.”

Faith called back, “We need some privacy.”

Chic called, “No peeking.”

Marken sighed and turned to Besh, who still held the skewered fish. He took the fish, looked closely, and shook his head, saying, “I hope they taste better than they look.”

Besh stooped to feed the fire. He said, “Looks like we'll be cooking for the women folk.”

Marken, skewering fish and laying them in the fire, said, “I'm here to serve my lady.”

“Me too,” said Sposh, arranging the tubers in the fire. “Wait 'til you taste these goober roots. Sweet and nutty. Melt in your mouth.”

Besh asked, “Sposh, have you noticed the westerly wind?”

Sposh walked away from the fire to test the quickening wind. “I smell no rain,” said Sposh. “Definitely coming, but a day or two away.”

Besh said, “I hope you're right. I'm in no mood to deal with grumpy women.”

Marken said, “You lead, we'll deal with the ladies.”

The rains came early. Large limbs tied together with rope made a frame for a lean-to, on which the large leaves were shingled. It was a hasty job, and the inside was cramped. Sposh and Chic curled together happily, but Faith complained about the proximity of Marken. Besh, at the rocky end of the lean-to, listened to light rain striking the leaves. Then, the leaking commenced.

“It's leaking,” complained Faith.

“I'll cover you,” said Marken.

“Get off me,” said Faith.

Besh sat up, complaining, “I've got rocks.”

Chic complained, “Oh, Sposh, I'm getting wet.”

Sposh, nearly asleep, mumbled, “It's only water.”

Faith rolled away from Marken to lean against the tree like Besh. She said with a snort of disgust, “Perv! Besh, we should use the cloaks as cover.”

“Alright,” said Besh. “But, if you lose them you stay behind.”

Chic sat on the other side of Faith and added, “Don't be stingy.”

Sposh snored lightly; Chic nudged him with her foot. Distant lightning illuminated the camp briefly, and Besh counted the seconds, reaching fifteen. As he rummaged in his bag, Besh said, “The storm is three miles away. The wind will destroy our lean-to. Secure the cloaks so we don't lose them. You'll need to stay close to each other.”

Chic gave Sposh a stout kick, asking, “And we just sit in the rain?”

Faith asked, “With Romeo's hot breath on my neck?”

Besh answered, “I can only do so much. I saw some crags north of us. I saw another hill; perhaps there's a cave. We can check it out. It's not far.”

Sposh sat beside Chic and yawned. “What's up?” he asked.

Faith answered, “We're going to look for better cover.”

Sposh stretched between Besh and Chic; Chic pushed back. “Oh,” said Sposh. “Is it raining already?”

Besh said, “Remind me not to ask you the weather next time. Pass this down.”

Sposh replied, “Don't get a lot of rain standing by a throne.”

Bundled against a strengthening wind, the group made a wary path down the hill. At the stream, Chic and Sposh slipped in mud, tumbling noisily. Besh felt the tug on his rope and turned; he could barely see behind him. A flash of lightning exposed Faith reaching to help. A second flash illuminated Faith's fall. Dark thunder followed.

Faith complained, “Watch where you put that thing.”

Marken responded, “I only fell.”

Besh said, “When you're done, we should hurry.”

Sposh said, “I can't see a thing.”

Besh replied, “That's why we have the rope.”

Besh held the spears and hatchet. He led patiently. He kept the pace steady and was worried by the strength of the wind. With each brighter flash of lightning, Besh saw the craggy outcrop get closer.

They took shelter on the leeward side and huddled gratefully. Besh handed the spears to Sposh and Marken who reached through their cloaks and held them awkwardly. The wind howled, and lightning blazed through a lowering sky.

“I'll look around,” said Besh in a lull. “Hang tight.”

Chic said, “Sposh, I'm cold.”

Sposh replied, “Take shelter in these arms, my love. I'll warm you.”

Faith said, shivering from the cold, “He better find a cave.”

Sposh said, “He takes too much on himself. We should have gone with him.”

Chic asked, “What if he doesn't come back? What will we do?”

Marken said into the huddle, “I always wanted to farm. We can build a cozy log home, and dig a well.”

Faith replied, “Besh took the ax. Gods! It's so cold.”

Marken said, “Let me hold you.”

“No,” said Faith.

Marken said, “For the warmth, my lady.”

Chic said, “Faith, let him hold you. Don't be cold.”

“Oh,” said Faith in shivering frustration. “Alright. But, no funny business.” Marken leaned his spear against the rock face and positioned himself under the cloak. “Not like that,” said Faith. “Move over. Like that.”

“Any way the lady likes it,” said Marken. “Marken Pierce delivers.”

“Enjoy your win,” said Faith. “It'll be short-lived.”

Sposh leaned his spear beside Marken's and hugged Chic tightly. He said, “Let me embrace the prettiest wife in the world. There now, silly bean will warm you.” Chic giggled.

“Where is that man?” asked Faith.

Chic responded, “I hope he's safe.”

Marken said to Sposh, “I know our reason, but why are you and Chic leaving? You can go anywhere in your world; to the other side.”

Sposh answered, “I'm a deserter now. I fear for my lovely wife. This war changes everything. If my cousin wins, the women will be mistreated. If his wife wins, the men will be mistreated. How can we live in such a world?”

Besh reached around in the general area, touching Faith and causing her to jump. “Jeez!” she complained. “Scare me to death.”

“I found a place,” said Besh. “Follow me.”

Chic peeked from her cloak and held out her arm. She said, “Here's your rope.”

As Besh led the way, he said, “We'll have to climb. Single file. Marken, Sposh, let the women have the cloaks til we get to the overhang.”

“Overhang?” asked Faith. “What about a cave?”

The climb was short. An overhang covered a flat ridge barely wide enough for the five of them, but it sheltered them from the driven rain. Besh sat in the narrow end, and Sposh followed, pausing to slip back into the cloak with his wife. Faith sat against Chic and wrapped the cloak about herself as she trembled from the cold. Marken squeezed into the overhang, stooping over Faith and searching with an outstretched hand.

“Hey!” said Marken. “What about me?”

“You can stay outside,” said Faith.

Besh saw Marken's wounded expression as lightning lit up the crowded space. It was etched indelibly on his eyes; an afterimage that lingered. Thunder rocked the sodden party. As the brutal peel rumbled into the distance, Chic complained with a single word.

“Faith,” she said, drawing out the name as an urgent appeal.

“Alright. Alright,” said Faith, throwing open the cloak to allow Marken inside. “But, no groping.”

Marken snuggled, then complained, “I've no place for the spear.”

Sposh added, “I have the same problem.”

Chic said, “We can put them behind our heads.”

Besh rubbed his hands together against the cold as he blew a warm breath into them. He asked, “How long do rains last up here?”

Sposh answered, “At this time of year, not very long. I hope.”

The dawn came gray and chill. Sposh opened his eyes to peek out from the cloak. Chic's head rested on his chest; her snoring was light. Sposh wanted to stretch, but there was no room. Kissing the top of Chic's head, he shook her and whispered in her ear.

“Wake up,” he said. “You're drooling.”

Sposh nudged Besh and was answered with a sleepy grunt. Marken opened his eyes and rolled his head; his neck was stiff. Faith's head rested on his shoulder; her yellow hair covered her face like fine gold thread. He wished to let her sleep on, but the others were stirring. Besh raised his head and peeked out at a cleansed world. Marken opened the cloak to look around, and Faith roused, sitting straight, and wiping hair from her face.

“Chic asked through a yawn, “Is it morning already?”

Sposh said, “The day begins. It awaits your rising. Arise lovely sun and cast your beauty on this dark world.” Chic giggled.

Besh yawned and said, “We have a poet in our midst.”

Below the crags, limbs stretched and sought increased circulation. The grass was wet and the earth was soft. Besh removed his vest to access the inner pocket in back. He returned folded cloaks to his colorful bag, and the bag to the pocket. As he buttoned his vest, he saw the group eyeing him patiently. He cleared his throat.

“Well,” he asked, “who's up for a walk?”

The morning progressed and the skies cleared. The sun came on strong, making the flat plain steamy. He had set forested hills to the north as his goal, but time dragged, muscles ached, and bellies growled. Besh didn't like to complain, but he was just as hungry and tired as the others. He couldn't feel sad for them without also thinking of himself. He couldn't sympathize with himself without feeling for the group.

Leading the group in weary fashion, Faith fussed at every word or help that Marken offered. Just ahead of Besh, Sposh and Chic were being silly, like a young couple that just fell in love. The plain was vast and the hills seemed to remain on the horizon. The hills preceded black mountains, so there was a good chance of finding water. The mountains sparkled with reflected light, snow sat like a white blanket on the eastern peaks, but the summit to the west smoldered. Having a waking volcano added to the mix was troubling enough, but Besh also noticed the movement of distant animals.

When at last they reached the hills, they found themselves among large gnarled trees and berry bushes. “Are these safe?” asked Faith.

Sposh picked a berry and popped it in his mouth. With a smile, he answered, “Bully Berries. We eat them all the time.”

The group paused to satisfy their hunger. The afternoon sun was bright in a cloudless sky. Marken came to Faith with a handful of berries and said, “I've berries, my lady. You no longer need pick.”

Faith said, “Just stop. I can pick my own.”

Besh said, “Let's save some for later.”

Sposh placed a berry on Chic's tongue; she savored it with an indulgent laugh. Sposh said, “I never got to feed you berries at home.”

Chic, placing a berry on Sposh's tongue, asked, “Will you feed me in the morning?”

Sposh answered, “Berry urgently.”

Chic laughed, and chided merrily, “Silly bean.”

The others in the group had watched the scene unfold. Besh noted, “Like syrup on hotcakes.”

Faith asked, “What's the story on silly bean?”

Chic laughed as she turned to Faith. She said, “When we met, I told Sposh my name, Chic Pea.”

Sposh cut in, happiness on his hairy face, “And I said, if you're a pea, I'm a bean.”

“Such interesting names,” said Marken.

Besh said, “Let's focus on survival. I see a big tree down by the stream. I have a sack for extra berries. If there are no objections, I say we build a fire and rustle up some wild forage.”

Huffing irritation at Marken, Faith took an adamant position beside Besh, and said, “Let me have the ax.”

Besh was unzipping the inner pocket in the back of his vest; he looked up with a worried expression, and replied, “No executions without a fair trial.”

Faith climbed to the top of the tree as Sposh and Chic rummaged among bushes for roots. Besh and Marken waded the swollen stream, lifting rocks to find shrimp-like creatures and place them in the berry bag. Out on the rolling plains to the west, a southern wind bent the high grass to the north in gentle waves.

“What do you see?” asked Besh loudly.

Faith called down from the tree, “A lot of open land. Did anyone else notice the volcano?”

“She's hot,” said Marken.

Faith responded as she began her descent, “Only a perv would describe an active volcano as a sex symbol.”

Besh said, “We're on the clock, kids. She could blow at any time.”

“You too, Besh?” asked Faith dropping from the lower limb.

Chic and Sposh emerged from the bushes with plant stalks in hand. Sposh tickled Chic's petite nose with the leaves at the top of his stalks. Chic giggled.

Marken said as he walked to the smoking campfire, “Honeymooners.”

Faith crouched to feed the fire and replied, “So lovey-dovey.”

Besh followed Marken from the stream, saying, “I don't know. I think they're kind of sweet. It's refreshing to see someone in love.”

Sposh laid stalks to one side of the fire, Besh placed the crustaceans on the other side. Faith complained, “Is that all?”

Marken invited casually, “Come and show us how it's done.”

Faith marched to the stream, stooped to test the temperature with a finger, then waded in with an adamant shrug. Marken followed with a happy smile, saying, “In the wet jumpsuit competition, the winner is.”

Anger in her voice, Faith asked, “Besh, can I hit him?”

Besh waded in and stood waste-deep between Faith and Marken. He said, “That's kind of a married thing to do.” Marken grinned, and Faith sneered.