Open Bivouacking

[Lorcan Gregory]

4 th Fall

Amidst the Opal Clan

The Drykas community had been more than generous in gifting him some of their supplies. The muggy air sent a chill down Lörcán's sweat-soaked spine despite the heat, his simple black shirt sticking uncomfortably to his bulky frame. Syna's glow had already began its descent towards the horizon and it wouldn't be long before night cloaked the city of tents in shadow.

Regardless of his deeply felt gratitude to the Drykas people for their charity, Lörcán couldn't help but wish one of them had at least stayed to show him how to actually USE the equipment sprawled out in orderly stacks by his feet. Though, his cheeks reddened sheepishly just at the thought of asking for help.

It stunned Lörcán, as the realisation washed over him that his pride, or maybe it was his ego more so, would have prevented him from reaching out. Shaking his throbbing head, Lörcán swallowed down the overwhelming trepidation that had been threatening to rip from his lips in a scream all day. The fact that he was having to rediscover who he was, terrified him to his very core. He could be capable of anything and he didn’t even know it.

Every time he stopped to truly allow his current predicament to seep in, nausea grew in churning knots in his stomach – though that could just be the symptoms of his concussion hitting again. Every time he tried to remember his name, who he was, anything at all, his heart thundered as his mind grasped at nothing. Blank.

Planting his hands on his slender hips, Lörcán sighed. Inhaling deeply, he forced down the fierce tempest of his swirling emotions, clearing his mind until an eerie calm washed over him. He refocused on the present. Well he'd better get started while he still had light to see by.

Crouching down, he bounced on the balls of his feet as he reached out to grab the large folded piece of tough fabric. Glancing over the ropes and pole that he assumed were to be the crux for setting up his tent, Lörcán began envisioning how each piece was supposed to fit together in complete consternation.

Flicking his pensive hazel gaze over his surroundings, he studied the already erected (much larger designs) of the pavilion tents caging in his small claimed space. Most of the Drykas around him used the pole in the center to hoist up their tent. Studying how their ropes extended outwards and were staked into the ground, Lörcán turned to his materials. Alright, seemed simple enough – right?

Not 20 Chimes Later...

Red faced and flustered Lörcán growled through his gritted teeth. His muscles began to burn as they stretched, jarring the pole precariously in place. With one hand steadying the long wooden beam, his other was furiously flapping through the large tent canvas draped over his head – attempting to find the edge which seemed to scurry away from him at every turn, mocking him.

A loop of rope was treacherously enclosed around his throat, constricting tighter and tighter as he struggled to free himself from the tormented trap of his tent! As he strained to find his escape from beneath the layers of canvas, his legs flailed in all directions! Like a serpent bent on trapping its prey, the cord wrapped its fibers around his waist, slithering down his leg and binding itself around both his feet.

“Gah!”

In one exasperated yelp, Lörcán shot out his legs, realizing he was suddenly cocooned in a snare of rope and was sent toppling to the side! An assemblage of pole, canvas and limbs floundered through the air as he fell onto his back with an “Oooph!”

[Sisquoc]

"You're heavy, Kook!" Sisquoc hollered at the bird. "Fly for yourself for awhile." He gently pushed the large storm owl off of his shoulder, causing the bird to flutter into the air, ruffling his feathers in disgrace.

Sisquoc stood still and rubbed the sharp puncture wounds in his shoulder from the owl's claws pointedly, glaring at the bird. He had been meaning to purchase a set of gloves and jesses for a long time, but he simply hadn't gotten around to it. Until then, Kook was far too comfortable perching on Sisquoc's tall bony shoulders while they walked. The owl was generally careful, but with the weight and the hunting skill of his talons, there was no way he could avoid hurting the Kelvic, no matter how thick of shirts he used. As if to demonstrate this fact, a tiny droplet of blood formed at his shoulder on the far side of his collarbone.

Sisquoc gave the bird a smug look as he spotted the blood. "See?" He grunted, gesturing to the wound. Kook understood not a word, and innocently cocked his head up at his master from the ground. Sisquoc replied with a sigh and a flicker of his hands. Begrudged. Acknowledgment.

And so the Kelvic started walking again, headed to the edge of the camp with his owl in tow. He had planned to spend the day training, but it seemed that Kook's focus level would not allow for it. Instead, Sisquoc bent to pick up a small stick. "Fetch." He commanded, using two fingers to point in the stick's direction as he had been taught. The owl immediately complied, racing high into the sky and then shooting down to pick up the stick gleefully. Sisquoc still didn't understand why Kook loved fetching so much. It was the first command he had learned, and so perhaps it held a special place in his feathered heart.

Sisquoc waited for a few ticks, then began making his way to the owl. However, when he got to the place where he had thrown the stick, there was no Kook in sight. He picked up the twig, then looked around nervously at the tall grasses. "Kook?" He called without thinking. Idiot, he thought to himself, the bird doesn't know his name. "Return!" He corrected himself with the correct command. There was silence. Then, a soft hoot came from just a few feet away, followed by the sound of struggling wings.

Sisquoc stood puzzled for a moment before rushing toward the sound. Was Kook hurt?

What he found was not a hurt owl, but a very proud one, trying to lift a massive "stick"- a pole from the collapsed tent.

"Kook! No!" He scolded, rushing forward to shoo the owl away. Kook fluttered up and away indignantly, plopping himself in the grass to groom, as if to show how much he didn't care. Sisquoc on the other hand, began to rummage through the tent's remains. He wasn't certain that the tent even had an owner, until he saw the squirming cocoon, all bundled on the ground. His hands whispered a habitual wonderment.

"Do you need help?"

[Lorcan Gregory]

Squirming and wriggling to free himself from within the dark cocoon of tent and twine, Lörcán huffed and puffed; refusing to give in, abjuring that his efforts were ostensibly futile. The sudden fluttering, rattle of a bird’s wings overhead tore a startled bawl from his lungs! He impulsively struggled to thrash his limps in response - to shoo away whatever predatory fowl had come to peck him to death! However, the rope restraints firmly held his muscles in place.

Instead, Lörcán endeavoured to throw his body into a roll to evade, when unexpectedly he heard a commanding voice boom at the feathery fiend, "Kook! No!" Lörcán paused in his fight for liberty, his alarm momentarily eased with the sounds of a rescuer. Hands suddenly rummaging around him, Lörcán aided his saviour as best he could with his extremities bound the way they were. "Do you need help?"

Syna’s dusk glare momentarily blinded him as the tarp was ripped from over his face; the rush of fresh air as it filled his lungs, sweet and tantalising. Freedom! His gaze adjusting, the blurry vision of a lanky man hovering above him filled his view. Lörcán suddenly felt affronted, falling into the disposition of a sheepish child. Here he was, a grown man found incapable of pitching a simple tent and not only that – somehow got himself completely entangled in it all. He couldn’t hide his mortification as his cheeks flushed.

Awkwardly averting his gaze, Lörcán cleared his throat, summoning the courage to throw aside his cumbersome pride, “Hey, I uh… Thanks.” Finally bringing his soul-searching gaze to peer into the dark eyes of his rescuer, Lörcán half-smiled, “Please tell me you speak common?” He had been lucky so far in his stay in Endrykas that the few he had met spoke the same as he did. He wasn’t yet sure what language the Drykas used, but he was sure, he didn’t understand a word of it.