Hour stretched into hour as they followed the teenage boy, and Orlon felt the pain of his hunger begin to lose against the droop of his eyelids. The darkness and the late hour were becoming too much for his overtaxed system… He thought about leaning on the Holy Pike for support, but something deep within warned him to abolish the notion.
Rae suddenly stopped, the Party stumbling to a stop behind him, narrowly avoiding bumping into each other. They wondered what was up. Just an inch before the boy’s nose was a tree. They had reached the forest.
"The worm tunnels into gravel filled earth! The blind man without tapping stick! Our way has become complicated. Too complicated for us to traverse, even with the aid of Rae’s light. I, Ty, the Parson, see we have no choice but to stop for the night," Ty the Parson said, the flail of his limbs heard with the ruffling of his cloak. "The farmer awaits the rooster’s crow! Rest quickly, that we may begin our quest anew at daybreak."
And so saying, he dropped to sit cross-legged, staff across knees, hands flat on the ground at sides, where he stood.
And in response, the Party but for one sat where they stood. That one was the One, and Orlon watched them, including his self proclaimed guardian, prepare to curl up for the night. He sighed. How tired he was, yet feeling the way he did, he could not even think of sleep—and he wondered how they, who must feel the same way, could ignore it so easily. Well, he would just have to give voice to that overwhelming feeling, saying:
"I am hungry."
"We lost our cook," Marcol said, "so—"
"I know that," Orlon said. "I thought—"
"I-I h-hu-hu-h-h-have s-su-su-s-s-some ju-ju-j-j-jerky" Tarftenrott said, and as all turned to see him holding up a hefty pouch of jerky, he explained, "W-w-wu-w-when yu-yu-you t-t-tu-tu-tru-travel w-w-wu-wu-w-with d-du-du-d-Dorks," he shrugged, "i-it’s a-always w-w-wu-w-wise t-tu-tu-to b-b-bu-b-b-be p-pu-p-p-pu-pru-p-prepared, j-j-ju-j-just i-in c-c-cu-c-case."
"Hey," Telluspett put up an injured protest.
No one paid the Dork notice, their attention captured by the pouch of jerky, saliva glands working overtime. Orlon had been right that the others were hungry, too, and were as grateful as he was to discover something edible on hand. Tarftenrott passed the pouch around, and each was able to take two jerky strips and still leave the pouch fairly full when it was returned to its owner. The stuttering warrior took two jerky strips himself before securing the pouch back to his belt.
"Thank you," Orlon said—and the others murmured their thanks, before all partook of the offering
Two strips of jerky was not a lot, but it proved enough to ease their hunger, making the idea of turning in for the night more palatable to them one and all. So they began to curl up where they sat to sleep.
"Come, Orlon," Sharna said, patting the ground before her. "Lay close, that I may…better protect you."
Orlon looked at the attractive warrior woman, lying on her side, and let his eyes drop to the ground she patted before her. It was close, indeed. But it was not the closeness that troubled him as much as the weapon he now carried. He feared that if she came in contact with the Holy Pike, she would suffer the same fate as Mishto Sharpaine…. And it was having this fear which made him feel guilty, which he did not quite understand.
"Come, Orlon," She said. "We need to rest."
He did as she requested, curling up before her, careful to keep the pike at arm’s length from her. The only contact she made was putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
The brilliant globe of light winked out.
"The lifeless fish floats belly up! The morning flower unfolds its petals to greet the sun’s rays! Arise, arise all. The day begins. Our quest’s final leg awaits us."
With a sigh, Orlon opened an eye. It was daybreak, the sun’s rays turning the pitch black of night blue-gray. He became aware of the absence of Sharna’s hand on his shoulder, which drew his eye first to the shapely shadow—Sharna’s, he knew—that crossed over him from behind, then to the Holy Pike, still carefully held an arm’s length away, as he had placed it last night. He opened his other eye, lifted his head and looked around to find everybody else was up, watching him.
He got to his feet, careful of the weapon in hand, and stretched away the tightness of his sleep, what little he got of it. What little he got was revealed by a nearly jaw popping yawn that racked his body. Upon recovering, he turned his attention to what had stopped them the night before, the forest, and he blinked hard, not believing his eyes.
After crossing terrifying Dark Forest to begin the quest, then seeing the eerie woods before the Dark Mountain across the road from the Stirring Dog Inn, to see what they faced here, at the "final leg" of the quest was…disappointing. The forest stretched east and west as far as the eye could see and its depths were rather light and airy, and not creepy in any way. There was something troubling about the forest, however, and that was the mountain looming over it.
When he looked at the mountain, what must be their destination, the lair of Tibtarnitalli—whatever, he gave it a double-take. Up close, it was evident from its flat top it was volcanic, and the likelihood of it erupting appeared to be the only threatening thing about it. Yet the likelihood of that appeared very unlikely to him. Why, there was not even a tendril of smoke rising from its top, which from memory of something he read somewhere meant the volcano was active.
His thoughts were interrupted by what happened next: Ty the Parson plunged into the forest, followed by the Party, zigzagging through the trees, as there was no path, crooked or otherwise, leading into it.
"Let’s go, Orlon," Sharna said, a hand on his back urging him forward.
There was no hesitation in his response to her urging, and they followed the others into the forest, joined by Tarl Bimbo, who had held back to see what his best friend would do.
They had not gotten far into the forest when the faint sounds of a river ahead came to them. The sounds grew louder rapidly, and within a few steps they found themselves on the bank of a wide river, facing a distant, thickly treed bank. And Orlon was positive this was one of the two rivers they had narrowly crossed at the bridges. A crease formed in his brow. He was certain it was—and yet this river flowed westward instead of eastward.
Looking up and down the river revealed to him no bridge, feeble or otherwise, to cross it. He looked at the far bank, spotted a tiny path leading into the thick tree line. It was good to see as it represented a way to travel once they crossed the river, and yet was a curiosity, considering its unusual narrowness. But he saw no way to reach it… Little did he know his best friend, standing beside him, fists on hips, was eyeing the same conundrum, until, that is, he gave voice to it.
"So," Tarl said. "If we must cross this river, I ask: How?"
Silently, Shing stepped forward, drawing his magnificent broadsword, sunlight glinting off its well honed blade. His narrow eyes darted from tree to tree, judging each by height and thickness, and with a nod, he settled on a twenty plus feet tall, sparsely limbed tree. This he chopped down with five easy strokes, sending it crashing to the bank. In quick order, he chopped it into seven even pieces, and with the tip of his sword, drilled holes in each end of each piece.
He then searched through the discarded limbs to find two stout ones, which he cleared of leaves. With these in one hand, his sword in the other, he returned to the seven logs, turned his eyes on the Party.