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She was gaunt, her fur dull and patchy. She was as near starvation as we were. Yet…if one of us had to die so the others could live…I fingered the knife at my belt. No. First I would build a fire and heat some water. At least I could give her a warm drink before she gave me her body. I kicked a few logs loose from the ice and carried them into the house, put them on the hearth and took out my fire pouch. But the logs were encrusted with ice, and I had no kindling. I looked at the stools under the small table, pulled one out, and smashed it into kindling. The woven rush seat should be the perfect fire-starter. I separated the logs on the hearth and carefully arranged my kindling materials between the two largest ones, then struck a stream of sparks into the small pile with flint against sparkling pyrite. Soon I had the kindling burning brightly, and I carefully placed some smaller sticks over the logs already in place. When I was sure the fire was established, I whispered a short song. It would be bank full. What worried Pete was that his sorghum was only about waist high.All three leaned into the wind, covering their faces with their hands from the rain. They crowded onto the porch, sheltered from all but the absolute worst of the storm. At times they couldn't see the barn through the rain. The rain running down the lane to the barn was like a small river. The cows would have plenty of cover out in the big pasture. He heard Sue's mare whinny, so he knew she and the colts would be alright. Sue would want to know THAT.They stood watching the rain for a few more minutes and went inside, again. He told the others what he had seen, and they changed to dry pants. Their raincoats hadn't covered but to their knees, so their legs were soaked. Royce took down the journal and made an entry of the rain gauge contents. It was part of their bread and butter. Pet glanced up at the clock. It was just 3 in the afternoon. Most were in the kitchen, or around the table. Sue was with.
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