MWC-Shelter from the Storm

The storm almost seemed to come out of a clear sky-it happened so quickly. The day had been cold, yet clear, with not even a cloud to tell the tale, but Silas had squinted up at the moon the night before and claimed there was a ring around it-certainly sign of a rough one on the way. The others had scoffed, and now found themselves eating their words-or rather, Methos and Kronos ate their words-Caspian had the last bit of the horsemeat, which the others were in no way inclined towards. It had been rather good-some days before, but lacking for salt…safe to say, improperly jerked horsemeat is not a thing one needs to go into detail about. Between complaints about the taste, and continued chewing, Caspian made guesses as to which part of Silas' anatomy the storm was pulled out of as they hastened in the direction Methos had pointed. He claimed to know this terrain well enough to know there were caves in what seemed like an anomalous rock outcropping in the midst of the plain. And so they were struggling across the whitening field as the sun crept down on the slim faith that the man actually knew what he was talking about. However, it beat the alternative-pitching camp as the winds swirled around them and the snow threatened to bury them.

This had not been a particularly good winter.

"There-you can see the opening, it's a short drop down-or I think it was," Methos offered.

"And exactly * how * long ago was it you'd last been here, Brother?" Kronos inquired, making conversation being preferable to listening to his teeth chatter.

Methos paused, closed his eyes, and turned his face skywards. The sun was in the sign of the bull, and it was not four, five years past the eclipse that preceded the samana infestation, so that had to have been…

"About three hundred years ago-I think. This used to be a burial place for the Kirmani."

"What happened to them?" Caspian asked.

"Wasn't anyone left to bury them…after I got here." He peeked into opening-and threw in a fistful of horse bones, listening. No rustle of animal feet answered, nor any other unpleasant sound. He smiled. "This should be fine."

"I'm not staying the night in a tomb," Silas said, resolutely.

"They didn't really bury the bodies in the caves-they just saved…certain parts." This got Caspian's attention. Not caring to go into detail about the burial habits of a long-dead people, Methos entered the cave, kicking stones out of his way, and then, they heard a loud, startled sound.

"Yes, there * was * a short drop down…"

****

A fire was lit, and then the others paused to get a good look at their surroundings-the walls of the cave were decorated with some figures of what seemed to be warriors facing a battle against a large, oddly-shaped enemy. Methos shrugged. "Not exactly the quality of the artisans of Jericho." He reached into a pouch until he found what he was looking for-an alabaster vial of woad. He picked a twig up from near the fire and proceeded to add large genitalia and horns to the figures. Kronos smiled, and after surveying Methos' handiwork for awhile, handed over the kohl he used for his own war-paint.

"The Horsemen were here-should we add that?"

Methos shook his head. "There would be an interesting posterity."

Caspian lost interest in the drawings after a short look about, and then sat himself by the fire. He took out a stone, and proceeded to sharpen his sword. Silas, bored, curled up in a corner, and drifted to sleep. And, not long after, began to snore, loudly, and with some murmuring noises. Caspian stared at him, at first merely irritated, but the irritation was growing with every breath.

"I imagine the rest of us won't see any rest with that racket."

Kronos glimpsed over, having barely noticed the sound until just then. "He'll stop." He went back to creating a picturesque scene involving a warrior and a stag and a spear…and then he really listened. It was irritating and loud. What if he did want some sleep? After all, they would be travelling again on the morrow, weather permitting. "Kick him. Roll him over." He shrugged.

Caspian continued glaring. He did not feel that he necessarily needed to kick the man to make him stop-but he desperately wanted to. He rose, after a careful deliberation of where he should kick him, and then delivered a boot to Silas' rear. There was one great * honk * of breath, some smacking noises-and silence. He didn't wake, but he no longer snored. There was relief.

"I imagine we should retire, ourselves. Perhaps our storm-predictor has the right idea," Kronos then suggested.

Methos sighed. "Perhaps. I do recall, just mere miles further on, there had been a village-untouched. We may find a place to ride out the remainder of this wretched season. Build our resources-plan our next move." The idea of arriving at a village and spending a peaceful few months did not seem like such a horrible idea compared to the wanderings they experienced recently. And he was also beginning to feel sleepy, and in need of rest. "I just want to finish this." He gestured to a very rough scene-of four men on horseback. Kronos nodded, and then took a place by the fire. He leaned back, watching, but soon turned to watch the fire, and let the flames lull him to sleep.

****

Once they all had laid themselves to rest, the snoring began anew. Kronos woke first, and stared across the somewhat lowered flames at the peaceful figure of Silas, making a horrendous din. The others seemed to sleep on-and that was a thing not to be borne. He hissed, in no particular direction.

"Does no one else hear that?"

Caspian popped open one eye-"That? That seems to have gone on long enough." He shifted position, from laying to sitting. "What do you say-Methos?"

Methos rolled over. He considered his options. He could pretend to still be deeply asleep-so asleep he was in no way inclined to wake, thus showing his lack of concern about the whole snoring issue. He could inform them that their talking was far more irritating than the snoring, which would only create an argument, which he had no interest in. Or he could do what he then did. He sat up, and turned to look at Silas. Despite being truly loud, he appeared quite peaceful. "I have no idea what to do about it."

"I do," Kronos then announced, gruffly, pulling himself to his feet. Caspian followed. Each took an end of the large man, and just gently enough so as not to wake him, but with some considerable force, they lifted him. "Are you helping?"

Methos shook his head. Poor Silas. The man simply was a hard sleeper-but he had it coming.

They managed to lift him over the bump, and guided him out the opening, and then Methos' eye couldn't track exactly where they dragged him-he heard the man wake. There was a yell, but then, silence. And smiling, the two others returned.

"He * will * wake up, you know," Methos said, not daring to contemplate what they actually did.

"No, he won't," Kronos responded, with a very familiar twinkle in his eye.

What had happened dawned on Methos then, and he responded. "Well, he won't be especially happy when he…thaws out."

"No, he won't," Kronos answered. He lay down again, quite satisfied.

"Whatever happened to never raising a sword against one another?" Methos asked then.

"I used a * knife * , Brother-it wasn't a sword."

Methos considered the statement. Well, it was true. And it did make for a much more peaceful sleeping environment, with him outside. He looked up to see the flakes still coming down, lit by the moon.

There would be a * time * digging him out of the snow in the morning.

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