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"Bloody rain," Iorveth muttered, huddling further into Ciaran's side to try and escape the cold water dripping on him.
They'd been returning to the main camp from a quick scouting expedition when this storm had broken north of them, flooding the dry creekbed they needed to cross. Neither of them were such fools as to try to ford the roaring, foaming water, but that left them stuck here, woefully unprepared for an extremely wet night in the woods.
"It's not the rain that worries me," Ciaran said dryly, just as lightning flashed again overhead.
Iorveth winced as the boom of the thunder nearly deafened him. "I take your point."
The forest needed this rain— it had been too long since the last, and the needles of the trees were turning brown at the tips from the drought. But the lightning that had rolled in with the rain was all the more dangerous when everything was so dry. If a fire started in the wrong place, the whole forest might catch, downpour or not.
There weren't many young trees in the forest, but Ciaran had found a patch of blackthorn under the conifers, which meant they were trying to keep dry under a rudimentary shelter they'd constructed from Ciaran's cloak hung on the thorny branches. (Iorveth's cloak, being larger, was thrown around both of them as they huddled together against the chill wind).
It was better than a depressingly large number of nights Iorveth had spent, if only because he wasn't out here completely alone, but he would much rather be back in the Scoia'tael camp, with waterproofed tents and sentry shifts and, ideally, supper.
Iorveth wasn't hungry enough to try any of the half-ripe sloes hanging from the branches— and there were times when he would have been. Really, apart from the potential danger of fire, this was mostly an inconvenience.
The wind picked up, sending the branches swaying and dripping water onto Iorveth again. He grunted and tried to curl into an even smaller ball.
"So what do you figure the odds are on some monster deciding this'll make a good shelter tonight?" Ciaran asked.
Iorveth groaned. "Don't tempt the gods, Ciaran. I don't want to fight a monster in a damnned thorn hedge."
"Don't want me picking prickers out of your arse while telling you how brave you were?"
Iorveth could hear him grinning.
"I'd rather you do other things with my arse," Iorveth said haughtily, and snickered as Ciaran laughed and elbowed him.
“Not here, unless we want to go right back to picking thorns out of it,” Ciaran teased.
“I demand soft sheets and rose petals,” Iorveth added, turning up his nose. "And a chilled bottle of Est Est."
"But no roof, eh?"
"The roof is implied," Iorveth said haughtily.
"Uh-uh, no going back on it now," Ciaran said. "Sheets, roses, wine. I'd have held out from a full meal myself: Cedric was going to make rabbit stew tonight. He found some early mushrooms—"
Iorveth groaned. "Pox, Ciaran, don't talk about food. I was looking forward to having something hot, and now…"
"I have a little jerky left," Ciaran said. "I was going to save it for morning, but if you want it…"
Iorveth waved a hand and grimaced at the cold air. "Keep it till morning. Neither of us will starve overnight."
Ciaran nodded, his hair brushing against Iorveth's neck.
"Try to get some sleep," Iorveth added. "I'll wake you when I can't keep my eye open."
"Giving me second shift, hm?" Ciaran said, raising an eyebrow.
Iorveth just looked at him in return. He didn’t want to mention that he’d heard Ciaran wake intermittently last night. All of the Scoia’tael knew about nightmares, and he knew Ciaran preferred, like he did, to pretend that he didn’t have them. But that didn’t mean that he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, account for them.
Lightning flashed, illuminating Ciaran’s drawn expression for a split second. After the thunderclap died away, Iorveth heard him speak, barely audible above the rain.
“Thanks.”
Iorveth didn’t answer aloud, just snaked his arm around Ciaran’s waist and let Ciaran lean his head on Iorveth’s shoulder.
Ciaran did drift off after a little while, his warm bulk going limp against Iorveth’s side. Iorveth stared out into the rain, trying not to shiver as the wind gusted and the rain poured down, turning the ground to mud beneath the layer of branches they’d laid down. Lightning continued to strike, and after each flash Iorveth twisted his head, looking for fire in the darkness, trying to scent for smoke. The trees bowed in the wind, dry branches groaning and snapping in protest, leaving Iorveth dependent on poor sight alone to stay alert to predators or monsters looking for shelter. Each anomalous shape had to be stared at until he could identify it, and since that most often happened when lighting illuminated the woods, he then had to look again for signs of fire…
He saw no animals, but as the night wore on, he caught himself re-examining shapes that he half-recalled already identifying. He couldn’t say for certain that he had looked upon them before, but far sooner than he’d hoped but a subjective eternity later he had to admit defeat. His eye was itching with tiredness and each blink was a struggle, and even the chill wasn’t enough to keep him from desperately contemplating sleep.
“Ciaran,” Iorveth said, nudging him. “Time for your watch.”
Ciaran grumbled, and Iorveth nudged him again. “Don’t make me stick my hand under your doublet.”
“Nngh, ‘m up, I‘m up,” Ciaran murmured against his collarbone. "One— just one minute."
Iorveth shivered at the vibration of Ciaran's sleep-rough voice against his skin. Gods damn it, why the hell did they have to have gotten caught out here?
"All right, I'm awake," Ciaran said, just as Iorveth was thinking about making good on the cold hand threat. "I'll wake you when I'm dropping off again, or come morning."
Iorveth grunted in understanding and tried to get comfortable without leaving any bits of him sticking out from under the cloak overhead or severely inhibiting Ciaran.
"You're going to get a crick in your neck," Ciaran commented.
"Tell me something I don't know," Iorveth muttered, and closed his eye.
He woke to Ciaran shaking him gently. He could still hear rain pattering on the ground, but he could tell day had arrived, even with his eye closed— everything was a little brighter. His eyelid felt gritty, and he definitely had a crick in his neck, but they might be safe enough to head for their camp now.
“Anything try to eat us?” he asked.
“An arachas wandered by, but it had heard about Escargot and it left us be.”
Iorveth was tired enough that he had to open his eye and look at Ciaran before realizing he was kidding.
“Given Escargot is still interested in eating me if she can catch me, did the new arachas want to take her place?”
Ciaran laughed. “It declined.”
“Shame.” Iorveth tried to stretch his neck.
“Here, let’s get out of this thornbush,” Ciaran said, reaching up to try and unhook his cloak from the branches.
Getting the cloak free, after the wind had tangled it even more thoroughly in the branches, involved a great deal of cursing and a few pricked fingers. Iorveth and Ciaran struggled free of the blackthorn some time later, and Iorveth straightened up with a relieved groan.
“We’re not home yet,” Ciaran said.
“No, but we’re not dead yet either,” Iorveth responded.
“Gods be willing to keep us that way,” Ciaran said, making a ritual gesture. Iorveth couldn’t bring himself to mirror it, but Ciaran didn’t comment. He never did.