@Newsie @TheEdude @Annekin @Islebrd @Toriel @Draconequis
Following Kristina’s example, Cen turned around to look over his own supplies where his bag lay not far away. He preferred to try to keep his rucksack within sight – he trusted the others not to go through his things, but one could never be too careful with strong poisons. Besides, he was no fighter, survival expert or mage: without the tools of his trade he was of no use to anyone.
The vials of painkillers and accompanying syringe were still secure in their own bag: there was no way they could slip out or break over his other supplies. His stocks of herbs, bandages, and suturing supplies were also as he remembered from when he last checked earlier that week. Though thankfully there had been no need to unpack his various surgery tools since the start of their journey, he unwrapped them all now, testing that the edges still cut easily into his nails before stowing them each in their place. His food, raincoat, journal, ink and other miscellanea were not nearly as well-organized but at least Cen could determine that he hadn’t dropped anything in the snow during their travels. It was a puzzle to decide what went closest to the top for both convenience and emergency, but eventually Cen was satisfied and made his way to the fire where some of more prepared members of the group were already waiting.
It was frustrating to unpack so soon again, but it went a good deal faster now that he knew where he had everything. He had the sense to scrape some snow into his one tin pitcher and set it over the fire before he started; by the time he had gathered everything he needed and had stowed everything else away, the snow had melted into water that could almost pass for lukewarm.
“See you all shortly,” he greeted everyone, picking up the pitcher and waving his razor before heading off among the sparse pines. It took some walking to find a tree with a low enough branch to fasten his strop against. Though the trees soon blocked his view of the fire, they did nothing for the wind and the cold bit into his hands the moment he took his gloves off. Moving quickly before the water froze again in its pitcher, he stropped the razor, worked up a lather and began shaving. He used his right hand – though the grip was weaker, there was nothing wrong with his dexterity even with only three digits to steady the razor. If his face wasn’t going numb from the cold, Cen thought he might’ve even found it calming.
For a moment he thought he heard something crunch against the frozen pine-needles, but when he turned around there was nothing but the cold wind to greet him. Cen dismissed it as his imagination and got the work on the left side of his face when he felt a warm breeze ruffling his hair. He turned around slowly...
Cen yelled out in alarm and leapt back, slipping on the treacherous pine-needles. The razor jerked from his hand and left a stinging trail on his cheek before it spun away onto the frozen soil. There was no time to make a grab for it. He rolled over, scrambling to his hands and knees, turned to face the predator and found… Shah Mat, returned from a successful hunt, looking well-fed and far too content with himself.
Cen groaned and rested his forehead against the cold ground to steady himself after the adrenaline rush. That dragon was really no good for his heart.
Following Kristina’s example, Cen turned around to look over his own supplies where his bag lay not far away. He preferred to try to keep his rucksack within sight – he trusted the others not to go through his things, but one could never be too careful with strong poisons. Besides, he was no fighter, survival expert or mage: without the tools of his trade he was of no use to anyone.
The vials of painkillers and accompanying syringe were still secure in their own bag: there was no way they could slip out or break over his other supplies. His stocks of herbs, bandages, and suturing supplies were also as he remembered from when he last checked earlier that week. Though thankfully there had been no need to unpack his various surgery tools since the start of their journey, he unwrapped them all now, testing that the edges still cut easily into his nails before stowing them each in their place. His food, raincoat, journal, ink and other miscellanea were not nearly as well-organized but at least Cen could determine that he hadn’t dropped anything in the snow during their travels. It was a puzzle to decide what went closest to the top for both convenience and emergency, but eventually Cen was satisfied and made his way to the fire where some of more prepared members of the group were already waiting.
Right. Shave. Did he still have the time?
It was frustrating to unpack so soon again, but it went a good deal faster now that he knew where he had everything. He had the sense to scrape some snow into his one tin pitcher and set it over the fire before he started; by the time he had gathered everything he needed and had stowed everything else away, the snow had melted into water that could almost pass for lukewarm.
“See you all shortly,” he greeted everyone, picking up the pitcher and waving his razor before heading off among the sparse pines. It took some walking to find a tree with a low enough branch to fasten his strop against. Though the trees soon blocked his view of the fire, they did nothing for the wind and the cold bit into his hands the moment he took his gloves off. Moving quickly before the water froze again in its pitcher, he stropped the razor, worked up a lather and began shaving. He used his right hand – though the grip was weaker, there was nothing wrong with his dexterity even with only three digits to steady the razor. If his face wasn’t going numb from the cold, Cen thought he might’ve even found it calming.
For a moment he thought he heard something crunch against the frozen pine-needles, but when he turned around there was nothing but the cold wind to greet him. Cen dismissed it as his imagination and got the work on the left side of his face when he felt a warm breeze ruffling his hair. He turned around slowly...
Red eyes, a mouth full of sharp teeth, hot breath reeking of meat.
Cen yelled out in alarm and leapt back, slipping on the treacherous pine-needles. The razor jerked from his hand and left a stinging trail on his cheek before it spun away onto the frozen soil. There was no time to make a grab for it. He rolled over, scrambling to his hands and knees, turned to face the predator and found… Shah Mat, returned from a successful hunt, looking well-fed and far too content with himself.
Cen groaned and rested his forehead against the cold ground to steady himself after the adrenaline rush. That dragon was really no good for his heart.
