*****Dale-Garlin*****
Smiling, Garlin watched as his arrow flew through the bushes, hearing the meaty thunk and hearing the last squeals of the rabbit. Rushing over, he picked up the body of the rabbit. What was that, his third? Last time he and Ethar had seen each other, they had been tied one to one. Thinking that there would be enough food by now, Garlin shot an arrow so steeply into the air that it whistled shrilly, the signal to return to camp. If Ethar was anywhere nearby, he'd either hear the arrow or see it in the dropping light.
Making his way back to camp, the first thing he noticed was the strange smell that wafted from the boiling pot of stew over the fire. Walking up, he asked, "Smells good, what's in it?", nodding his head towards the pot. "Some of our dried vegetables, spices, and a dash of wine for good luck," replied Jarl, who was sitting beside the fire on his saddle. Gramil, who looked much better now that he was on the ground, was sprawled on the ground, on the opposite side of the fire that Jarl was. Hearing a twig snap, Garlin spun. Ethar stepped out into the firelight. "Ah, Garlin, I heard your signal and came back. How many have you got?" Ethar asked. "Three. What about you?" Garlin replied. "Two," Ethar sighed, "I would have gotten my third, but your signal scared it off." Laughing, Garlin sat by the fire. Ethar sat opposite of him. In two minutes, he had one rabbit skinned and thrown into the stew. And so the night continued, the four acquaintances lying around the fire, catching some sleep, but talking throughout most of the night.
[ October 13, 2002: Message edited by: Tharkûn ]
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