A haunting note carries over the lake, echoing into the overcast sky. Sad, forlorn, melancholy and defeated, it sinks into my chest and makes my steps slow, just a tad. It comes again. The echoes mingle into a chorus of spirits that chill my soul and deaden my spirit. Just a bit of panic creeps in at the end. It's not a happy cry, and the echoes only serve to instill dread in me. It works. I keep marching, but it works. A moment passes and the echoes still and I am left in the stillness of death once again.
"Red Throated Loon," I say.
"Right," says Annette. She thinks for a long moment and takes a deep breath.
A jaunty march, a single hit to start it off, that bleeds into a trill that reaches the heavens. Again and again, the march thunders on, filling the empty air with hope and joy. The gray sky does not seem so gray anymore, the trailing fingers of mist lingering over the lakes surface don't seem so haunting and grasping.
"Eastern, wait, Southern Whip-poor-will."
"Damn. Right again." Another moment of thought and she inhales once again.
"I don't know what's more impressive," Amaru says, "The fact that you know these birds, or that she can mimic them."
"Shush."
Kweh. A short simple bark that only comes across as kweh. It's happy, much like the whip-poor-will, but my mind comes up with nothing, nothing at all. A short noise not of this existence carrying joy and jubilation and it's made up.
"Not fair. You can't just make up noises like that. Doesn't exist. I win."
"No, no, no. You don't know the bird, so I win. I'm finally on the board. You can't take that from me."
"Ok then, what's this bird called? The kwehbird?"
"No, it's not the kwehbird. I... I don't remember what it's called. But I saw one. I saw a whole herd of them when I was in the Palegrass Marsh. Think really big chickens. Like horse big. And you can ride them and they kind of smell weird. But they're awesome. I love them."
"I think she's making this all up," says Amaru, "I've been to the Palegrass. They have chickens, big chickens, but they're more or less normal sized."
"Agreed. Still my point, and you still have nothing on the board."
"Not fair. Not fair at all. Just because you two have no sense of ornithology doesn't mean I'm a liar. The kwehbird exists and it makes kweh noises."
I put the point into my mental tally. Annette will have nothing and like it.
The game continues and I do very well. Cardinal, white throated raven, even a golden bittern, although that one does stump me for a bit. She finally gets me with a double crested cormorant. I have seen cormorant, and I'm pretty sure it only had one crest, but if there is a type with one crest, then it stands to reason that there would be a type with two. If she said a triple crest, then we would have had the kwehbird argument again. Things don't come with three crests.
Three days though, that is a common enough occurrence. Every single day is the third day, depending on how you count it. But this is the third day of us walking and it has been absolutely banal. The sky threatens rain, but it never comes to pass. The travelers we met give us a fine how do you do and a tip of the hat, with the occasional lingering glance on my figure, but not an ounce of trouble. And I love it. Nothing is happening and I am bored, which means I am safe. I am safe to play asinine games with Annette and Amaru as the steps start bleeding into one another and the blisters form and pop across our collective toes. Even that hasn't been so bad. Amaru had one on the heel that cleared up in a day after wrapping his feet properly. Poor boy has grown too used to carriage rides and horseback.
The short sword sits awkwardly at his hip. Too small, for someone his size, but it was the only thing he insisted on using. Never mind that a Zweihander would be more like and einhander with him, but it's what he knew and traveling by foot unarmed is just foolish. Even Annette has a quartet of daggers stashed around her body. So, he had to have something, if only for show. At least he's not stupid enough to start twirling it around like a baton. That's liable to get someone down an arm.
But it feels good to be moving again, even under the gray oppressive sky. It keeps the sun off my back and keeps everything cool. Lake Fine Mist has been at our right for morning and it should be there until tomorrow afternoon. All in all, a fine way to spend a few days and I am not complaining.
My precious bastard hasn't even decided to make an appearance either, and that's just great. I've been able to devote myself to the current moment and my current company with little to no distractions. And I have done so voraciously. Despite the rather soft ministrations of the morning we applied, by the time noon rolls around, I feel that familiar tug in my stomach. But we have to keep walking, for now. Evening, we will deal with all of this in the evening when the world is dark and the moon is high. Part of me wishes we brought along some wine, just for the treat, but drunk and horny is a bit too much of a setback around here. As beautiful as Lake Fine Mist can be, it is still a long way from anywhere with law and order. And we're only going further and further into the wildlands with each and every step.
Amaru does considerably worse at the bird game, even when Annette starts mixing in the ones I've already done. He does manage to identify eagle and crow, but anymore distinctions beyond that elude him.
The bird game continues then falters. There are only so many noises we can make, so many names we know. And it's over and the walk continues in silence. Every so often, Annette or Amaru try to stoke the conversation again, but the embers are cold, with only ash in the pit. We need new wood to stoke and burn and that will have to come when we are still.
"How about that for tonight?" asks Annette. She points a hand to a village on the shore, abandoned.
"It's still a bit too early for us to call it," Amaru says.
"But it is a roof," I say, "And I'm fine with dragging this on a bit. I'm in no rush."
