Breakfast had been something of a cold thick porridge. It was in fact, the boiled down slurry of what should have been a satisfactory stew intended to be eaten the night before. A mixture of bits of meat both fat and lean, root vegetables, and cracked grains with a bit of salt in water, everything a hard working body needed for fuel. Everything of course, except sleep, which was exactly the reason that last night's stew was now this morning's porridge. I had underestimated the hypnotic power of the small cooking fire, not only had it lulled me into a state of deep relaxation, but it had also boiled my meal down into a mush before it had starved of wood and died out.
I awoke cold, stiff, and hungry. The crag beneath which I had sheltered was now wrapped in the breezy purple and indigo veils of pre-dawn. I had a crick in my neck from having long overslept while sitting reclined against my pack with my head canted toward my knees.
Displeased with both a hot meal missed and the long cold sleep taken, I grumbled quietly as I shifted myself, uncrossing then stretching out my lanky numb legs, and leaning forward to sit upright on my haunches. I rolled my head on my shoulders cursing the pain in my neck, then stretched my arms and flexed my hands. I struggled to my feet and had to stamp them several times to get the feeling back into my toes. My shoulder popped as I stretched, the sharp pain of it startling and angering me. My eyes widened by reflex then narrowed again with determination. I cursed, aloud.
Although I was what could fairly be called old and cranky by some, it was my belief that I had always been old and cranky. I was nearly certain that I was born that way in fact, and now I was simply older, and crankier.
I had smeared the porridge over the last of the stale bread I carried and eaten it while scattering the remains of the small cooking fire, sweeping aside the ring of stones and cradle of ashes with my foot. Drinking down the long cold cup of blackwine, I stowed the gear in my pack and hoisted it again onto my shoulders.
Another forty pasangs, by my reckoning, unless the village had moved, which was just as likely as was not.
