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They woke to a cacophony of birdsong.
The Drifter lifted his head from Eris’ chest, blinking, bleary-eyed, as she stirred beneath him in the sleeping bags they’d zipped together inside the tent.
She groaned and pulled him back down on top of her.
“That’s the thing about nature.” He muttered into her skin. “It’s fuckin’ loud.”
“Yes.” She combed her fingers through his hair, caressing the back of his head.
“I wonder what time it is.” He kissed her neck.
“Dawn.”
“I figured that. Birds are always such assholes about the sun coming up.”
“They will lose some of their exuberance in an hour.”
“Yeah. I’m gonna go poke the fire.”
She made a disappointed noise.
“I’ll be back.” He kissed her shoulder. “Just gonna get it going so that by the time we actually get out of bed it won’t take forever to heat up your tea.
“Mmmm… tea…”
“Yeah… I thought so. Ya know… I think we might be in blueberry season or damn close to it. We should see if we can find some. Those are nice. You’re gonna think you won’t like ‘em, but then you’re gonna try ‘em and you’ll thank me. Ain’t nothin like fresh picked blueberries.”
Eris smiled from the sleeping bag. “I like you,” she mumbled.
“Well good. With what we’ve been doin’ lately, it sure would be awkward if ya didn’t.”
She smiled and burrowed deeper into the covers.
Half an hour later, the Drifter poked his head into the tent. He waited in silence, saying nothing for a few moments, and began to back out.
“You said you were coming back to bed, Rat, what are you doing?”
“Makin’ you breakfast. You awake-awake or just slightly awake?”
“Why?”
“Tea?”
“Yes.”
“I have it ready. You want it in here or by the fire?”
“I want you in here, and then tea by the fire when I am done with you.”
He laughed. “Yes ma’am.”
***
They awoke a second time to splashing in the lake nearby and exited the tent, weapons drawn, in time to see an eagle fly off with a large fish twice its size.
"Well,” he put his arm around her and pulled her close to him, keeping his hand cannon pointed at the ground in his other hand, “if that ain't a hint we should be eatin' breakfast I don't know what is."
"You are always so exuberant about regular meals."
Her glowing orb lost its frosty shell and returned to its regular soulfire glow in her hand. She flicked her fingers and sent it floating back into the tent.
He kissed her quickly.
"You don't go through what I been through without gettin' excited for regular meals. Besides, I got everythin' together to make stick bread for ya." He rubbed his nose against hers and squeezed her waist.
"Did you say stick bread?"
"I did."
"I can't imagine bread made from sticks being pleasant, but it is you making it so I'm sure it somehow will be."
"You're right, it will be pleasant, an that's because the sticks are not an ingredient. It's how the bread is cooked."
"Hmmm… now I'm even more curious." She rested her head against his shoulder as they looked out on the lake.
A chorus of invisible frogs serenaded them from the water.
"Clothes first though." He looked down at her with soft eyes. "Much as I like the view, it is a bit chilly."
***
"So the trick is, you want it hot enough to cook but not too close or the outside will char and the inside’ll be raw." The Drifter's flour-coated hand guided her wrist as they both crouched by the fire. Eris held one end of a finger-width stick. A long clump of raw dough was wrapped around the other half of it.
She smirked at the floury fingerprints now on the long dark sleeve of her shirt. The lighter t-shirt she wore on top of it fluttered slightly in one of the gentle breezes that occasionally swept through their camp. She felt the wind move her hair.
He kissed the top of her head and stood.
“Be right back. Just gotta wash my hands.”
The fire cracked and popped in front of Eris as she turned the stick and sipped her tea, listening to the Drifter’s light splashing in the lake behind her. Up in the sky some geese flew overhead in a small irregularly shaped ‘v,’ honking at each other. A mourning dove sounded its five-syllable cooing song from the trees. The choir of frogs and crickets provided a continual backdrop to everything else.
Eris was not used to this much noise when not in an area surrounded by people. Outside of the sounds of battle or the tortured screams of ghosts and nightmares, the moon was silent. The noise here was not unwelcome, though, just… very different, and… useful. She was able to navigate and determine her direction with considerable precision. In effect, giving her an additional layer of sensory perception to compliment her hive eyes and magic.
The frogs gave her a near-constant sense of the location of the water. The crickets did the same for the trees. The ground they were camped on was bare rock, crisscrossed with tree roots and large cracks. Initially she had found the way sound ricocheted off of the rock disorienting, but now she was using it proficiently to navigate the terrain. The fire popped loudly as a larger piece of wood split. The flames were something she could see very clearly, and they lapped with hungry tongues as the Drifter put the end of a split quarter log into the edge of the embers, gently tipping the top of it into the fire so it lay in a good position to be consumed.
“I like it here,” she said quietly.
“Me too. That’s why I brought ya here. It’s nice. You’ll wanna turn that stick.”
Eris turned the stick. The Drifter crouched next to her with a dough-covered stick of his own.
“Morning’s a good time for foraging. When we’re done this I’m going to take a wander and see what’s around for us to eat. Do you want to come or would you rather set up the table and stay here with your books and your writin’ and your tea?”
“I see no reason not to bring my tea with me if I accompany you.”
“You could also do that, yeah. Foraging is more of a two-handed activity, though.”
“Then I will leave the tea.”
“Your stick's almost done. If you hold mine I’ll go get the butter.”
"Mmm... butter."
Eris put her mug on the ground and took his stick.
He returned with a small box and pulled off the lid.
“Gimme your stick. This is where the magic happens.”
Eris gave him a small smile and did as he asked. He used a knife to slice the bread along the length of the stick and broke it off into two long biscuits with an ash-covered trench in the middle of them where the stick had been. He then scooped out some butter on his knife and smeared it along the middle of the trench where it melted and blended with the residual ash into a black sludge before sinking into the steaming fluffy insides. He handed half of it to her with a smile.
“Eat that and tell me that ain’t fucking glorious.”
She took it eagerly and handed him his half-cooked dough stick so she could accept the other newly-buttered half of hers.
She took a bite, bread in both hands, staring into his eyes as she did so, keeping her face impassive. His eyes glittered in that annoying way they did when he knew he was right. She maintained a lack of expression on her face, watching him as she chewed. The cocky gleam in his eyes began to fade. She wondered idly if he was currently aware he was holding his breath. He might not be. She forced herself not to smile and waited as his confidence began to falter. Then she swallowed and spoke quietly, without any hint of a smile.
“You are correct.”
He let out his breath all at once.
“It is… “ she continued, “fucking glorious.”
He laughed nervously and she broke out into a smile.
“I was worried there for a moment, Moondust.”
“Of what? That your stick bread was less than perfect? It tastes like fire… but also like a fresh scone, only… not as refined… more honest, yet… still fluffy and… especially lovely with the butter. It’s delightful.”
He leaned his head on her shoulder. “Didn’t want to disappoint.”
She kissed his forehead. “You are so eager to either irritate or please me, often simultaneously.”
“That obvious, huh?”
“You are not subtle. In this area, at least. When you are infiltrating the Hidden or wherever else you flow through shadows, you are very subtle indeed.”
“Yeah,” he lifted his head off her shoulder so she could stand and pour herself more tea. “I can be sneaky.”
“Is that sneakiness something to do with… Tom, was it?” She took a sip from her mug, tea in one hand, half of the stick bread in the other.
“Ha! Yeah. Tom is a janitor. Goes all over the place cleaning up after the Vanguard. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve emptied Zavala’s garbage can and he just had no clue. It’s hysterical. Due to all the food deliveries while you were a hive god, Ikora recently realized she had a janitor who wasn’t on the books and decided to give him some key cards with a tracker in them. I did bring ‘em like she asked. They’re in the box by the tent. I’m assuming that’s how our shifty Awoken friend located us so quickly.
“So you admit Crow is a friend?”
“I got lotsa friends. Most of them want to kill me. He’s one of the few that generally doesn’t, which I do appreciate. It’s that hunter recognizing hunter thing. I uh… predate all that, but I definitely get along with you lot in that way. You understand.”
She laughed. “I do.” She took another bite of her butter soaked bread.
A bit of ashy butter oozed out and trickled along her lips and partially down her chin.
“Hold up. Let me just…”
He had the stick with bread he was roasting in one hand and a knife in the other. He stood and stepped in close to her, arms wide. Then he leaned in and gave her a long lick from under her chin up to her lips. She gave him a confused look.
“Butter tastes even better when I can lick it offa your skin.” He gave her a quick kiss and returned to the fire.
“I am… unaccustomed to being… licked.”
“Really? You didn’t seem to mind it this morning.”
Eris smirked and tilted her head, looking out over the lake. “I suppose that counts.”
“It does.”
She sipped her tea. “Then I guess I do like being licked.”
“Oh you do.” He gave her the cockiest grin. “A lot.”