There was water boiling over the fire and tea leaves floating on the frothy surface. The acrid smell woke me up and I lay there, feeling the dirt beneath me and hearing the hiss and pop of frying pork. The sounds of camp breaking were soothing. There, the jangle of metal, a clattering like rain on the door Wulfwyn was putting on her brigadine vest. And there, a shuffling like a wild boar in the underbrush Eric was stomping back into the campsite, most likely already affecting a foul mood. I smiled to myself and rolled out from under my wool cloak. It was damp with the morning dew.
Gaivs was snatching pork from the pan, unwilling to wait any longer. He used his bare fingers in a dangerous dance to slip the meat free before being scalded by the hissing fat that sizzled in a thin layer on the metal. I smiled thinly and pulled the tea free, finding where I had discarded my mug the previous