[Solo] Eggs and Earthworms
Posted: Sat Jul 18, 2020 12:25 am
2 Ymiden, 720
Darbyton
Darbyton
Gently, Bond picked the trio of eggs off of the dew covered grass, so as not to break them before he was ready. One by one, the wayfarer cracked them on the edge of the cast iron skillet resting elevated above the campfire, cautiously avoiding pressing any part of his flesh against the hot metal. He dumped the contents into the flames, flinching as the insides popped and sizzled when abruptly introduced to the heat. A few flakes of the shell dropped in with the yolk, but Bond didn’t bother to pick any of it out. A little crunch in his scrambled eggs wasn’t going to hurt him one bit.
Bond stirred the white and yellow portions of the eggs together with a spoon, mixing them as they cooked within the skillet. His motions were irregular, highlighting his lack of experience in the practice. Still, it was hard to mess up eggs, and it wasn’t long before the liquid mixture began to solidify into a fluffy yellow mass.
After another bit, Bond picked the cast iron skillet up, tossing a strip of quilted cloth over the handle to protect himself, and leaned it over top his plate. Scraping with the spoon, he dumped the contents alongside the hunk of bread he had ripped off the loaf before he had started cooking; then, he set the skillet aside, ready to begin his meal. He scooped the first bite up, shoving it into his salivating maw.
A tad undercooked, yet still possessing a distinctive crunch; he owed that to the aforementioned shells. Still, though, he could safely describe them as eggs. That was enough for him this morning.
To his left, a crunch of grass. “If you preheat the skillet before you start cooking,” the ranger Rewyn began, stepping into sight from behind the wagon, a fishing pole draped over his shoulders, “the eggs will cook more evenly. Its takes a few bits for cast iron to reach the right temperature throughout.”
Bond wagged the spoon at the young man before dipping it in for a second handful. “Valuable advice, kid, though less valuable now than it would’ve been just moments before.” The wayfarer waved the ranger over, gesturing to a log he had dragged over from the nearby clearing. “Come, sit and regale me with all of the stories your Ma told you of me. It would help take my mind off this lackluster performance I hold in my hands here.”
“She knew who you were, actually, when I described you last night,” Rewyn said, moving to take a seat on the log. “Though I’d rather not repeat the language she used.”
Bond chuckled, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “Duly noted, Rewyn; I shant call upon her again in the night, for my own safety and well-being.” He chuckled again. “As to the language, I can’t imagine it was discourse I haven’t heard before. A vagrant, perhaps, or maybe a ne’er-do-well. Those barbs don’t sink deep, dear Rewyn.”
“Actually, Bond,” he replied, hesitating for a moment, “she called you an ox-fucker.”
The wayfarer nearly choked on his last bite of eggs. Coughing and sputtering, he tapped at his chest. “Now that one, though,” he said, coughing once more, “cut deep, Missus Rewyn. I just hope she has kept such opinions to herself, lest my reputation by sullied by accusations of such, erm, horny fornications.”
Rewyn shrugged, looking away from the wayfarer with an embarrassed flush in his pale cheeks. “I wouldn’t know a thing, one way or another.”
Ah, sullied indeed. “Well, no sense in lingering around when there is still the prospect of fish to catch.” Bond pushed himself to his feet, moving towards his wagon to pull out his own fishing rod. Then, blowing a kiss in the direction of the oxen tethered nearby, he added, “until we see each other again, my lovers.”
Along their way towards the Whisker River, the pair passed within the sight of the outermost buildings of The Logging Consortium, the village’s largest industry. Bond could make out a wagon a distance down the Felltree Run, wagon buckling beneath the weight of the cargo. Armed guards flanked it on either side, accompanying the load further into the complex. Their path was in a different direction, though, and soon it was all left behind them. Still, Bond’s thoughts lingered on the operation.
“Do the Rangers do much business with the Consortium,” Bond finally asked, glancing at the young ranger beside him.
Rewyn shook his head, glancing back behind him for a moment. “Not for the most part, though I’ve been doing this for a few seasons now. Outside their Jungle excursions, they tend to operate in the tamer forests of the island, and what issues they run into they tend to take care of themselves with their own employees.”
“Do they relate any of the issues they run into to you all, so the Rangers could be better prepared for future encounters of the sort?”
“Aye, they send a representative over once in a while with general reports on things. Not that I’m privy to any of the conversations, I’ve just seen them coming in and out once or twice.”
Bond nodded, and didn’t pry any further. If he stayed too long on the subject, the kid might get suspicious and begin to inquire why he cared so much about the Consortium. When gathering intelligence, it was best to avoid such blowback, so sometimes it was safer to stick to a few questions and then change the subject.
In this instance, the arrival to the Whisker provided such a change. Bond moved directly to an empty stretch along the bank, but the Ranger paused to scan the nearby vicinity. “What bait are you gonna use, Bond?”
The wayfarer stopped short and stared at the empty metal hook on his rod. He shrugged. “Figured I’d try the ‘dangle a shiny metal object in front of the fish’ approach. Works on drunks in the bars, so I’m banking on at least one fish to still be hungover.”
Rewyn shook his head, “Do that and you’ll disappoint those fine ladies waiting back at the camp for you when you return to them empty-handed.” He waved Bond over, “I wanna show you something.”
“You know, I’m seeing the maternal resemblance more and more, kid,” Bond grumbled, albeit with a smirk across his face, as he moved towards where Rewyn was standing. Another log, this one undisturbed. “Whatcha got for me?”
“Our bait,” the ranger replied, shifting the log aside it. Underneath it, dozens of earthworms wiggled about. “Fish love to see catch moving prey, so if you’re not going to use a man-made lure, worms are a good alternative. Damp, dark areas are the best place to look when you’re in need. Under logs like this, in muddy patches, even behind stables where the workers dump the manure. They’re good to eat, too, if you find yourself in the woods without other meats.
Bond bent down and scooped up a long worm between his index and middle finger. “I’ll stick to the fishing for now.”
Walking back towards the bank, Bond fished out an object in his pants pocket: the cork from the whiskey bottle from the night before. Grabbing the hook, he jabbed it through the cork, forcing the entire thing through until it was on the other end. He then moved it further up the line until there was about five inches or so between hook and cork. A makeshift bobber for still fishing.
Bond worked the worm onto the hook next, making sure to stick the metal through the insect multiple times, lest it wiggle off prematurely once in the water. The wayfarer noticed Rewyn watching out the corner of his eye, nodding as he processed everything. Bond had displayed a flash of forethinking and independence; now to let the kid have control again, and learn a little in the process.
“Alright,” Bond said, gesturing to the way with a flourish of his hand. “I want to still fish. What’s the best place to cast into where we’re at?”
Rewyn pointed to a bend in the water. “I’d say near the shallows there. Water’s slower moving, so certain types of fish will linger there. Plus, look at the unsettled surface where those insects are skating about. Something’s feeding there. You’ve got no weights on your rod, so the hook is only gonna go so deep anyway, so capitalize.”
Bond obliged the kid, casting his line into the shallows as he had been instructed. He had barely gotten the hook into the water before something latched on. Caught off-guard, the wayfarer was slow in responding, and by the time he yanked and reeled, his adversary had stolen his bait. To his right, Bond heard the ranger chuckle. And, of course, he turned to find that Rewyn had already caught his first fish.
Rewyn tossed the bass back into the water, close to where Bond had cast the first time. The cheeky bastard.
“Appreciate the assistance,” Bond said, gesturing to the water. “But the morning is young, kid, and there were a lot more worms for me to sacrifice. More than enough time for you to tell me everyone else your Ma has gossiped with. I’m all ears.”
That wiped the grin off the young ranger’s face, and widened the one of Bond’s own.
Bond stirred the white and yellow portions of the eggs together with a spoon, mixing them as they cooked within the skillet. His motions were irregular, highlighting his lack of experience in the practice. Still, it was hard to mess up eggs, and it wasn’t long before the liquid mixture began to solidify into a fluffy yellow mass.
After another bit, Bond picked the cast iron skillet up, tossing a strip of quilted cloth over the handle to protect himself, and leaned it over top his plate. Scraping with the spoon, he dumped the contents alongside the hunk of bread he had ripped off the loaf before he had started cooking; then, he set the skillet aside, ready to begin his meal. He scooped the first bite up, shoving it into his salivating maw.
A tad undercooked, yet still possessing a distinctive crunch; he owed that to the aforementioned shells. Still, though, he could safely describe them as eggs. That was enough for him this morning.
To his left, a crunch of grass. “If you preheat the skillet before you start cooking,” the ranger Rewyn began, stepping into sight from behind the wagon, a fishing pole draped over his shoulders, “the eggs will cook more evenly. Its takes a few bits for cast iron to reach the right temperature throughout.”
Bond wagged the spoon at the young man before dipping it in for a second handful. “Valuable advice, kid, though less valuable now than it would’ve been just moments before.” The wayfarer waved the ranger over, gesturing to a log he had dragged over from the nearby clearing. “Come, sit and regale me with all of the stories your Ma told you of me. It would help take my mind off this lackluster performance I hold in my hands here.”
“She knew who you were, actually, when I described you last night,” Rewyn said, moving to take a seat on the log. “Though I’d rather not repeat the language she used.”
Bond chuckled, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “Duly noted, Rewyn; I shant call upon her again in the night, for my own safety and well-being.” He chuckled again. “As to the language, I can’t imagine it was discourse I haven’t heard before. A vagrant, perhaps, or maybe a ne’er-do-well. Those barbs don’t sink deep, dear Rewyn.”
“Actually, Bond,” he replied, hesitating for a moment, “she called you an ox-fucker.”
The wayfarer nearly choked on his last bite of eggs. Coughing and sputtering, he tapped at his chest. “Now that one, though,” he said, coughing once more, “cut deep, Missus Rewyn. I just hope she has kept such opinions to herself, lest my reputation by sullied by accusations of such, erm, horny fornications.”
Rewyn shrugged, looking away from the wayfarer with an embarrassed flush in his pale cheeks. “I wouldn’t know a thing, one way or another.”
Ah, sullied indeed. “Well, no sense in lingering around when there is still the prospect of fish to catch.” Bond pushed himself to his feet, moving towards his wagon to pull out his own fishing rod. Then, blowing a kiss in the direction of the oxen tethered nearby, he added, “until we see each other again, my lovers.”
Along their way towards the Whisker River, the pair passed within the sight of the outermost buildings of The Logging Consortium, the village’s largest industry. Bond could make out a wagon a distance down the Felltree Run, wagon buckling beneath the weight of the cargo. Armed guards flanked it on either side, accompanying the load further into the complex. Their path was in a different direction, though, and soon it was all left behind them. Still, Bond’s thoughts lingered on the operation.
“Do the Rangers do much business with the Consortium,” Bond finally asked, glancing at the young ranger beside him.
Rewyn shook his head, glancing back behind him for a moment. “Not for the most part, though I’ve been doing this for a few seasons now. Outside their Jungle excursions, they tend to operate in the tamer forests of the island, and what issues they run into they tend to take care of themselves with their own employees.”
“Do they relate any of the issues they run into to you all, so the Rangers could be better prepared for future encounters of the sort?”
“Aye, they send a representative over once in a while with general reports on things. Not that I’m privy to any of the conversations, I’ve just seen them coming in and out once or twice.”
Bond nodded, and didn’t pry any further. If he stayed too long on the subject, the kid might get suspicious and begin to inquire why he cared so much about the Consortium. When gathering intelligence, it was best to avoid such blowback, so sometimes it was safer to stick to a few questions and then change the subject.
In this instance, the arrival to the Whisker provided such a change. Bond moved directly to an empty stretch along the bank, but the Ranger paused to scan the nearby vicinity. “What bait are you gonna use, Bond?”
The wayfarer stopped short and stared at the empty metal hook on his rod. He shrugged. “Figured I’d try the ‘dangle a shiny metal object in front of the fish’ approach. Works on drunks in the bars, so I’m banking on at least one fish to still be hungover.”
Rewyn shook his head, “Do that and you’ll disappoint those fine ladies waiting back at the camp for you when you return to them empty-handed.” He waved Bond over, “I wanna show you something.”
“You know, I’m seeing the maternal resemblance more and more, kid,” Bond grumbled, albeit with a smirk across his face, as he moved towards where Rewyn was standing. Another log, this one undisturbed. “Whatcha got for me?”
“Our bait,” the ranger replied, shifting the log aside it. Underneath it, dozens of earthworms wiggled about. “Fish love to see catch moving prey, so if you’re not going to use a man-made lure, worms are a good alternative. Damp, dark areas are the best place to look when you’re in need. Under logs like this, in muddy patches, even behind stables where the workers dump the manure. They’re good to eat, too, if you find yourself in the woods without other meats.
Bond bent down and scooped up a long worm between his index and middle finger. “I’ll stick to the fishing for now.”
Walking back towards the bank, Bond fished out an object in his pants pocket: the cork from the whiskey bottle from the night before. Grabbing the hook, he jabbed it through the cork, forcing the entire thing through until it was on the other end. He then moved it further up the line until there was about five inches or so between hook and cork. A makeshift bobber for still fishing.
Bond worked the worm onto the hook next, making sure to stick the metal through the insect multiple times, lest it wiggle off prematurely once in the water. The wayfarer noticed Rewyn watching out the corner of his eye, nodding as he processed everything. Bond had displayed a flash of forethinking and independence; now to let the kid have control again, and learn a little in the process.
“Alright,” Bond said, gesturing to the way with a flourish of his hand. “I want to still fish. What’s the best place to cast into where we’re at?”
Rewyn pointed to a bend in the water. “I’d say near the shallows there. Water’s slower moving, so certain types of fish will linger there. Plus, look at the unsettled surface where those insects are skating about. Something’s feeding there. You’ve got no weights on your rod, so the hook is only gonna go so deep anyway, so capitalize.”
Bond obliged the kid, casting his line into the shallows as he had been instructed. He had barely gotten the hook into the water before something latched on. Caught off-guard, the wayfarer was slow in responding, and by the time he yanked and reeled, his adversary had stolen his bait. To his right, Bond heard the ranger chuckle. And, of course, he turned to find that Rewyn had already caught his first fish.
Rewyn tossed the bass back into the water, close to where Bond had cast the first time. The cheeky bastard.
“Appreciate the assistance,” Bond said, gesturing to the water. “But the morning is young, kid, and there were a lot more worms for me to sacrifice. More than enough time for you to tell me everyone else your Ma has gossiped with. I’m all ears.”
That wiped the grin off the young ranger’s face, and widened the one of Bond’s own.