As the others busy themselves, foraging, preparing the area, hunting for fire wood; Avogadro ineffectually rubs grass on his feet to 'dry' them and returns his shoes.
Truth be told he feels rather useless. None of his normal 'skills' are particularly useful in this environment. He decides to help the halfling that he had earlier chatted with, picking morsels to add to the pot.
"Mr Tarrow, this area is perfuse in its seasonal offerings is it not! Unfortunately Avogadro lacks for the wisdom of the Dwarf or the eyes of the Halfling."
Held out in his hands are six oak leaves, a piece of nut casing, three pieces of bark and a white feather. On his face is an apologetic smile.
Tarrow unleashes a hearty laugh and pats his friend on the leg. "You hardly fared worse than I. And see there, we'll grind those up in the mortar to add to the meal offered our beasts of burden. Except for that fine feather. I expect you would have use for that, but if your collection is full, may I have it for my formula book?"
Tarrow returns with Avogadro to the clearing and unpacks his kit, then looks to his tall companion. "See this glass stirring rod?" He produces the fine instrument for the magician. "Would you create a duplicate from thin air? It's the one thing in my kit that if it breaks I would be hard pressed to do without. And besides, I won't have to clean yours afterward."
The halfling begins the task of brewing beer by alchemy.
The spring water and fresh ingredients produce an exceptional batch, a clean, rich ale with earthy tones.
"So, you guys want some pigeon for dinner, uh?" Braggi picks his weapon and, even though he knows it's gonna be a tough job, smiles with false confidence. "Let's see what I can get ya! Anyone coming?"
"Be sure to bag any white pigeons you see, they're extra tasty I hear!"
Avogadro calls after Braggi, looking conspicuously at the big man's Greataxe. Before turning to Tarrow.
"Ah, I see the feather..." long spidery fingers hold the feather, just so, between forefinger and thumb. Muttering under his breath he passes his hand in front a few times. With each pass the feather changes colour; first red, then blue, yellow, green, purple. Before finally returning to its original white. "No, it is quite boring, you may have it for your form user book."
He takes the proffered stiring rod in the same fashion, between finger and thumb, beginning to stir an imaginary beaker midair. "Hmm, it is very nice, a wonderful piece, I'm sure I could, but then again... no... No Mr Harfoot, its no good, I cannot recreate this. If only you had packed a spare. But what's this?!" bending low, almost like a bow, Avogadro draws a glass rod, as if from up Tarrow's nose. "You had a spare all along good sir. Right under your nose"!
Avogadro watches intently as Tarrow works his own magic.
Garrett uses the opportunity to poke around under the tarp as Tarrow did, albiet, in the other wagon. The result, however, is much the same. Other than the meager rations Silas mentioned, a few blankets and a small keg of reasonably fresh water, there is simply a wagonload of salt blocks. The individual blocks are divided by small pieces of parchment or waxed paper, but there seems little beyond this to be seen.
Braggi heads out into the forest in search of prey, and after almost half an hour, finds that much like Tarrow's gatherings, the area has been used to camp often enough that it is less than ideal. The barbarian's efforts are rewarded only with finding a group of squirrels at play.
Braggi finds some squirrels qhich could do a nice roast, but sadly he hasn't got a way of catching them. If only someone had come with him that would have a ranged weapon and some decent aim...
Meanwhile, Muradin is foraging on his own. The Dwarf is distracted, letting people go around on their own, apparently more concerned with when the caravan would be on the move again. He is happy to the newfound water source nearby, and feeling that maybe the place they camped isn't so bad. A peaceful, light whistle can be heard from whoever is close enough.