thearena | And it burns, burn, burns.

Entry tags:

And it burns, burn, burns.

Who| Tabris, Cullen, Bayard
What| The wednesday night meteor show turns dangerous.
Where| Pine forest
When| Wednesday of Week 6
Warnings/Notes| Fire, swearing, mentions of violence.

The meteor shower started off pretty. She'd never quite seen anything like it, and she'd stopped to watch it, leaning against a tree in their little camp. It was as beautiful as the lights had been, and wasn't pointing out their locations like a snitching asshole. She felt wary, though. She'd only been here a few weeks, and she'd learned that nothing good came of anything new in this place. After a while of watching, she turned to Cullen, and nodded up at the sky.

"What do you make of that--" Her question was cut off when the large meteors came, too close, and too fast, and the ground shook as they rained down. "Andraste's FUCKING TITS--Bayard don't say those words, they're bad words--what is going on!?" The elf squawked, swore, and shrieked, all at once, in an embarrassing display of alarm, as she grabbed onto the tree that she had been leaning against. The meteors didn't relent, and it didn't take much time to smell the sharp, flavorful scent of burning pine. But pine is a poor wood to burn, because the thing about pine? All that resin made things explode.

It wasn't long before the night sky grew dangerously orange, and Tabris let go of the tree, now well and set in panic mode. "Shit--Shit! We need to--We got to get out of the woods, this place is going to light up like a giant torch." She moved to try to collect what she could, grabbing weapons, and throwing them on a blanket, cut from the hide of the mammoth she had helped take down on sunday. "Okay--Bayard, grab the food, grab--I don't know, what do we need? Where should we head?" She turns to Cullen, trying not to panic, and stay calm. "There's the lake, the river, the pond. Those might be safe from the fire, but I doubt that we'll be alone, and I'm sure they'll have some kind of nasties there." While she spoke, she tried to collect supplies. They needed to leave, but it'd do no good to survive the fire and die from lack of materials.

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Bayard's watching the meteor shower too, resting on the cool damp ground with his hands knit behind his hooded head, with the parka's furry hood wreathing his face and making him look like the head of a dandelion. The way the ruff falls over his forehead makes it difficult to see that he's started to drift off, gazing at the shooting stars as he thinks that won't this be something to tell Ringo when I see him, thinking and now I will be one more step ahead of my best friend in our competition to see the most things the world has to offer.

And then the whole ground shakes, and Bayard can only remember the recoil when he fired a musket at that Yankee, and he scrambles to his feet. He hears a crack like a gunshot over Tabris' voice, but can't see behind him in the dark enough to know it's a tree deeper in the woods. His heart hammers in his throat and he falls obediently into place at Tabris' urging; he may be the man of his house while his father's gone but he's never hesitated to follow a woman's orders, because it's common knowledge that they only bark commands when they need to.

"I've got the food!" Bayard rolls up the dried and gutted fish inside a blanket, twisting and tying the corners together to make a sloppy but effective means of carrying so much without dropping it. He slings it over his shoulder and it's heavy enough that he wobbles backwards - he supposes it's better to have too much food to carry easily than too little - and he makes his way to Tabris' side, ready to follow her and looking at her as if he's certain it's she (and not Cullen, strangely) who will lead them out of this.

It's been relatively quiet, aside from the light shows and the beacons above their heads. Bright as they are, it's easy to give others a wide berth, especially in the forest, as dense with trees as it is.

Cullen focuses on the little things to keep his mind occupied - taking stock of their food supplies, water and weapons and warm clothes. For the most part, he doesn't pay much attention to the shooting stars. Someone in their little camp should have their eyes and ears open to the surroundings, after all.

That, and it's just not the same without Adella around to enjoy it with.

When the ground shakes, when the trees start to crack, and the smell of burning resin reaches his nostrils, his response is immediate - he's up, grabbing for their weapons. His long-ingrained Templar training prevents him from panicking at the sight of what are effectively fireballs - he's experienced such things before, albeit on a smaller scale. His first priority is Bayard - Tabris, he's fully aware, can take care of herself, but Bayard is just a child.

"To the river," he says, arms already full of weapons and supplies. "If we can get across it, we should be able to find safety."

Tabris perfectly understood, and agreed with Cullen's priorities. She'd only argue if it were otherwise. She visibly relaxes when Bayard appears at her side, ready to go, and reaches over to affectionately ruffle his hair. She turned to listen to Cullen's advice, and nodded, shouldering her pack. Once she was sure they had managed to collect most of the important things, she started for the river. The fire was left unattended--A little late to be worried about it going out of control. At some point soon, it'd get to join a bigger blaze than it could ever imagine. There was probably some poetic metaphor bullshit that could be made about it.

"To the river, then. Maker preserve us, I'm too old to be running around like this." She grumbles as she moves, though she shows no signs of age, only stopping to make sure that the other two are with her. "Fires! I'd take a monster, I can fight a monster, burning Andraste..." She tsked, glancing over her shoulder. The fire hadn't caught up to them yet, but it wouldn't be too long. "Can't fight a damned forest fire."

The river will be flush with the week's snowmelt, Bayard knows, and yet he doesn't see any alternative and certainly not one worth talking back to adults for. He believes, truly believes, that these two have his best interests in mind.

He glances up at Tabris with a smile when his hair is ruffled, reminded with a sharp painful longing of Loosh and Louvinia back on Sartoris. He pats his jacket to feel that his little box of earth, his token, is still with him. And with that, he returns his attention to the fire, spreading fast enough for him to see the glow, dimly, through the line of trees.

"Unless the wind picks up. Fire jumps." Bayard exhales deeply through two pursed lips, whistling slightly. "Can't right hack a fire to death with an axe."

Cullen waves them both ahead, in the direction he knows the river to be. They have to move quickly - fire will spread fast, especially, as Bayard pointed out, if the wind picks up. They need to outrun it, if they can.

"We'll make for the caves, once we cross," he points out. "If the fire follows, it won't be able to burn rock."

If they can't make it across the river, well. They'll probably die. But they'll die pretty much no matter which direction they go, regardless. The river offers at least the possibility of escape.

There are a few things that Tabris might point out in better circumstances, regarding this plan--But the issues with the caves (those strange birds, possible air issues, going hungry) all seemed a better risk than getting burned to death. It was an ugly, painful way to die. She nods, and keeps going.

"One of us should cross first, and then let Bayard go, so one of us is on either side." She tells Cullen, as they hustle, the sound of the river roaring ahead of them. She swallows nervously, and she hopes the others just think that it's part of the whole 'running from forest fires' that's got her on edge. Certainly, it's a contributor.

She just hopes it doesn't come up that she can't. Swim. Very well at all. Enough to keep her head afloat. Probably not drown. If the water isn't rough. But it sure sounds rough. This was a lot easier in armor. Just sink to the bottom and walk.

Rather suddenly, Bayard breaks from the group, because it hasn't occurred to him that they aren't just sticking together by some sort of telepathic awareness of a communal plan. It's only when he's nearly lost them in the trees that he thinks to call out to them.

"This way! I saw a log upstream! We can cross there!" He pauses for a moment, catching his breath made difficult not by exertion but by how the air is already getting thick with smoke. His eyes sting. And then he keeps going.

The log is an old, damp, rotted, termite-eaten thing, with big branches jutting out of it at all angles like barbed wire, spanning the river. Half the bark has been eaten away by the rapids.

But it should be big enough for each of them to cross, if only one at a time.

When Cullen notices Bayard moving off another way, he waves frantically at Tabris and hurries after the boy - either to drag him back by the scruff of his neck or find out what has him going off - until he calls out.

"Ah," he says, stopping and staring at the log, assessing it. Tabris had a point - one of the adults should cross first, help Bayard across, and then the other should follow. As he looks at the log, it becomes clear to him exactly what order they should use.

"I'm by far the heaviest here. I should be last across." That way, if it can't hold his weight, the others won't be doomed by the miscalculation.

Tabris is quick to follow Cullen, dashing after the boy as well. "BAYARD!" She screams as they race around trees, nearing bowling the boy over as she catches up. For a moment, the fire is forgotten, as she grabs his arm, staring him in the eye. "Don't run off like that! Didn't I tell you not to wander away from us? What if someone else running from the fire saw you?" Despite her words, it was worry that dominated her expression. She knows she can't cluck over a boy, not in a place like this, but goddamn if she can't try.

She lets go of his arm quickly, though. Not a lot of time to lecture. She glances at the log, then at Cullen. She nods at his decision--It made logical sense. Tabris' muscles made her a little heavier than the average city elf, but she wasn't a match for Cullen. Taking a deep breath, she approached the log. She wished that she could take more time--At least the trees weren't right up to the river, so even if the fire caught up, they'd have a little extra time.

She decides against informing them of her weakness in the water. If she falls, she falls, and that'll be it. The Maker will see if she makes it out. She started on the branch, hefting her supplies onto her shoulder, and holding onto the extra branches when she can, picks her way across. One branch fails her, cracking under her weight, and she launches forward with a screech. But her arm shoots out for another branch, and despite a worrying noise and wiggle from the log, she manages to stay on, brought to her knees but not done yet.

"How does that blasted chant go...For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water--I got plenty of both of those--Like a moth to the light, goes to the flame, something something, goes towards the fire like Light--This was actually a shitty verse to choose right now--The veil holds no uncertainty. Amen." As she mumbles, she pulls herself up, wincing as she puts weight on one ankle. She experimentally flexes it in a circle, and pain blossoms, but experience tells her it's not broken. Nothing that can't be walked off. Still attempting to mumble the Chant, she continues the voyage, only stopping as she finally gets across, and throws her supplies down, turning to the other shore.

"Okay, okay. Bayard, come on. Take your time, alright? Don't rush. You'll be fine, we're both here." She edged over, putting one foot on the tree. She'd keep the damn thing steady if it was the last thing she did.

"Sorry, ma'am," he says, lowering his eyes when she chastises him because he knows she's right. He'll prepare for a lecture later. He may even look forward to it, since it'll mean that they're alive.

Bayard holds his breath a bit as Tabris crosses, and starts on his own before she's even entirely done. It's not fear that drives him forward, but the impulsiveness of childhood, the invulnerability that says that not only will he not fall, but that he also won't shake the log enough for her to stumble. It's that imperviousness that renders Tabris' encouragement irrelevant, redundant. He has one foot on the log when she stumbles, and by instinct presses hard on it as if his tiny weight could steady it. Her screech sends a wave of hair rising on the back of his neck.

And then she gives him the go, and with one last glance at Cullen, he scampers across. He has a certain surefootedness that comes from having climbed so many trees, from being used to log bridges and playing in the creek, and no branch buckles under his weight.

"Uncle Cullen, sir!" The fire's coming ever closer.

Cullen's face is a mask of concentration as he stoops at one end, trying to grip the log to keep it steady as the others cross. His heart leaps into his throat as Tabris stumbles, but he's powerless to do anything to help her.

Bayard is similar - he wants to shout to the boy to slow down, to be careful, watch his step - but shouting might only cause him to lose his balance as he scampers across.

Finally, finally, with the fire getting ever closer, he can feel the heat at his back, and it's Cullen's turn. He almost can't hear the boy's shout over the roar of its approach, and he climbs up onto the log in an attempt to cross.

He's no rogue, no lithe elf, he's a human man with a warrior's build - strength rather than fleetness of foot, which makes him not very well-suited to such a precarious foothold. He doesn't even want to think what Iron Bull would've done in a situation like this. He doesn't want to think of him at all, quite frankly. It's far too depressing.

He can at least swim, though the water is high and running fast right now after all the snow melted - he might not survive a fall regardless. The log creaks and shifts under his weight, so much greater than that of his companions. About two-thirds of the way across, the damn thing lets out an ear-splitting crack, and Cullen nearly topples over as it shifts - but one last sprint has him dashing for the far bank and throwing himself onto the solid ground, breathless.

Another crack, and the log gets swept away only moments later.

This child is trying to send Tabris to an early grave, she's sure of it, with the way he scrabbles across the tree. Her heart isn't what it used to be, she grouses to herself. As soon as he's within reach, she's there, grabbing onto him, pulling him to the shore. Once he's secured, Cullen starts, and Tabris is there, a foot on the tree, trying to steady it as best as she can. In she thought her heart was in a bad position with Bayard, the crack of the tree nearly causes palpitations.

"Hurry!" Her cry is pretty useless, since she's sure Cullen doesn't need to be told, but it makes her feel a little better, at least. She reaches out as he sprints, practically digging fingers into his flesh as soon as he's within reach, like she thinks she can haul him on her own if he falls. But he makes it safely, and then the log is gone. Tabris sinks to the ground, trying to get her heart to return to a regular speed.

"I would have kicked the log in, anyway." She muttered, watching it get whisked away. "Discourage others from following our trail." She turns to look at the others, eyes appraising them and their condition. "I, personally, vote for a moment to sit here and count our tail feathers, before we move for the caves."

Bayard swallows a shriek while the log cracks, but then Cullen's across, and he lets loose a sigh of relief that puffs his cheeks up some and turns into a bit of a cough from the irritating cluttered air. He looks at Tabris, then at the place where the log is, thinking of people on the other side burning to death (death by choking is, despite Bayard's current predicament, not something that occurs to him) and thinks of how his father's told him about the sacrifices needed to be made in war.

Is this a war, he wonders? Can two wars go on all at once?

"You can lecture me now, Miss Tabris, if we're safe." He blinks slowly, once, twice, then more quickly as a breeze catches the smoke in the air and kicks it towards his face. "Or we can wait until the caves."

Cullen, for his part, throws himself on the ground to catch his breath and calm his rapidly-beating heart. Very little is going through his mind now, except that they all made it across, and how long do they have before they need to get up and move again?

Bayard's words come to him, belatedly, and he can't help but cough out a short bark of a laugh, and lean his head back to look at the (probably artificial) sky.

"By all means," he mutters. "I'm interested in hearing it, myself."

Tabris doesn't strike him as much of a lecturer.

"Ughhhhh." Laying there had a lot of merit, and lecturing had very little--She'd already told Bayard what he did wrong, hadn't she. Slowly, she stood up, and walked over to the boy. Reaching out, she rested one hand on his shoulder, looking him square in the eye...And gave him a soft kiss on the forehead. "Keep us in your sight, you goose." She murmured, then released him. That did the job, she was pretty sure.

Turning away, she regarding the fire, having now reached the edges--Enough to feel the heat, and the smoke. She clucked her tongue, frowning. "If Alistair had been this relentless in pursuing me we'd of been married before we left Ostagar." She murmured, and propped her hands on her hips. "Well, we made it. I suggest we all puff our egos out for our incredible survival skills, and then get headed to the caves."

"Yes'm." He lowers his eyes when she kisses the crown of his head, not expecting such an intimate and tender gesture - but not disliking it. For a fleeting instant he wonders if his mother would have kissed him like this if she had lived. His Granny loves him, he knows, but she isn't the type to give such kisses.

He looks abashed, but only from having caused trouble for someone who cares for him. Tabris has sealed her message there more surely than any scolding could have. Bayard perks back up again, looking over his shoulder at the flames and then to his companions. "To the caves!"

Yes, that is about right for a lecture. Cullen turns his head a little to glance at Tabris for a moment, at her mention of Alistair. Part of him wonders if someday he might not be able to be so easygoing about his relationship with Adella.

If she's even alive, which he isn't sure of even now.

But that's neither here nor there - Bayard has a point, and it's a good one. With a faint grunt, Cullen hauls himself back up, and nods. "The caves - or at least their general vicinity."

Even if they can't go in, they might be able to climb the rock faces and keep safe from the spreading flames that way.

Give it ten years, Cullen. Just wait.

But she nodded at Bayard's words, and glancing around to double-check that the three of them were all in one piece, she adjusts her supplies, and begins the hike towards the caves.

"At least stone can't burn. If we can find a decent one we can just clear the entrance of wood. What if caves were made of wood...? Wouldn't that be crazy? Maybe, like, a tree big enough to carve caves out of? They say that Arlathan had trees like that, you know. Could just be the Dalish talking out their ass....ets. Still, I guess they'd know better than anyone else." She chattered away as they walked, trying to take their minds off of the dread that had just happened.

Bayard starts to chatter too, because Tabris' own nattering is like an invitation for him to break the rule about children being seen but not heard. Some part of him is aware that noise in the woods drives off the animals, but as they aren't hunting now, only carrying their limited supplies, maybe it's for the best to give snakes and bears a fair warning that they might stumble upon them.

Lighter than Cullen, younger than Tabris, he wastes that youthful energy on walking ahead a few yards at a skip pace, then returning to his comrades, then drifting forwards again, then back, like a sort of yo-yo.

"I reckon it'd have to be a mighty big tree for that, bigger than any sort of tree I've ever seen." He imagines seeing such a thing, of telling tales of it to Ringo when he returns home, to skepticism and awe. He feels a pang in his chest, not of longing but of uncertainty, because he doesn't know if he'll ever see Ringo again and only the optimism of childhood seems to make that feel like a given - and he's getting a bit too old for that. "Ringo and I once found a tree that was hollowed out the middle, but still standing, and we hid all the sticks and rocks we found in it that were special. Once we found an eagle-feather, an honest-to-God eagle feather, and a real arrowhead, and we put them in there."

For his part, Cullen keeps quiet - if Bayard and Tabris want to chatter on, that's fine by him. He's not terribly good at small talk, and unless they address him directly he'll let them carry on.

His senses are alert for more danger, more trouble, even as the heat of the fire grows less behind them. He glances over his shoulder frequently, his eyes and ears peeled for anything that might mean attack, or something else equally disastrous. As they get closer to where he knows the caves are - or were, Cullen stops them.

"We need to be careful," he says. "We can't be the only ones who had this idea - and the fire may have chased more than us out of the forest towards the caves."

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And it burns, burn, burns.

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