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Apres 3
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Lauren was the only one with whom I could hold a conversation, so after she retired, I spent the balance of the night reading and working on a couple old math problems I’d been pondering before I went to bed. I’d be curious to know if anyone has found a solution to sixth order polynomials, but I wanted to see if I could solve them on my own first.
Soon, Rayleigh Scattering began to blot out the stars, and color crept back into the world. The taller of the men stirred from his watch, stoked up the fire, scraped aside some coals, and put a kettle on to boil. While the water heated, he pulled out a metal tin from his pack and poured a measure of brown powder into a curious cylindrical pot with a plunger for a lid. He poured the boiling water into the cylinder and a smell like half-burnt aspen wafted forth.
Curious, I shrunk to my drinking size and pulled my favorite bowl from my inventory.
I gestured to the pot and then to my bowl. The man held up a hand, palm towards me and waited. The short man and the girl-not-Lauren roused from their sleep. The tall man set the lid on the pot and slowly depressed the plunger. Then he decanted a measure into an chipped enamelware cup for himself and then poured into my bowl for me.
I sipped the steaming liquid and let it slowly roll over my tongue. The drink tasted mildly bitter with complicated undertones of earth and smoke, followed by a lingering sweetness. I sipped again and savored the new flavors as they flowed through my mouth. Then, a new drug began to sing through my veins. My ears perked up as my drowsiness vanished.
I pointed to my bowl and then to the cylindrical pot.
“What is this?” I asked.
The man pointed to the pot and then his cup and said, “Coffee.”
I repeated the vibrations with my ears, “Cov-ee.”
The man tried again, “Co-fff-ee”
“C-uff-ee.”
“Cof-ff-fee.”
“Coffee.”
The man smiled. Then he pointed to himself, “M-ike.”
I pointed to him, “Mike.” I pointed to myself, “EE-Rog.”
“Yrog.”
He proffered the pot of coffee, and I held forth my bowl.
The girl-not-Lauren and the man-not-Mike stowed their bedding and joined Mike and I by the fire. Not Mike started making pancakes and not-Lauren filled her own mug with coffee. The morning Sun peaked over the treetops and I looked at it and it winked back at me.
I set down my bowl and tip-clawed over to Lauren, still asleep in her bag. The trees rustled in a quiet cheer. I loomed over Lauren’s somnolent form, pulled back my lips, and gaped my jaws. I tensioned my ears to make my voice a pleasant alto.
“Lauren, it’s wake-up time.”
She rolled over in her sleep.
“Come on, little one, the Sun is up. It’s time to rise and shine!”
“Mrrglmph….”
“Up and at ‘em sunshine, BEFORE I EAT YOU!”
At that exclamation, I dug my claws into Lauren’s ribs and tickled her.
“EEEK!,” She shrieked and startled awake, then she saw me looming over her, fangs bared, and she gave a second, full throated scream.
Still in her sleeping bag, Lauren jumped to her feet, which worked, then tried to run, which didn’t. She collapsed on face-first into a heap and I fell on my side laughing. Mike also gave a hearty laugh and not-Lauren snarfed coffee out her nose. Not-Mike just looked concerned.
I poured Lauren out of her sleeping back, picked her up in my mouth, and carried her back to the fire. I lounged on my side and dropped her into my claws. Not-Sarah struggled a bit, but I held her firmly and stroked her hair till she calmed down. Mike handed her a mug of coffee. I leaned my head back and lapped coffee from my bowl. Not-Mike took some of the fattier leftovers from last night’s supper and threw them in the pan. The not-sheep sizzled and smoked and rose into the sky like a burnt offering.
Damnit, I hate burnt mutton! If those primitive savages can’t cook, then why don’t they just give me the sheep raw?
The Sun crested the treetops. I squinted at it and it laughed at me. I closed my eyes and laid back, counting the not-sheep as I smelled them pass above me.
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The dragon, Yrog, reached its head back and lapped coffee from its bowl. When Tom started to fry some of last night’s elk, Yrog perked up and stared at him with glassy eyes. Sunlight crept across the clearing until it shone on the dragon’s face. It squinted into the Sun, its head weaving unsteadily, then it closed its eyes and laid back. Pretty soon, Yrog’s tongue lolled out and the dragon began to snore.
Lauren squirmed out of the dragon’s claws and stomped, as well as one can stomp barefoot, back to her bedroll to put on some pants and boots. Tom passed the cooking to Mike and went to check on Lauren.
Mike regarded the brown liquid in his mug.
“Coffee. Who’d of thunk?”
He sipped.
