Whenever he spies a bear trap, Rowan digs the end of his quarterstaff into the dirt beneath one edge. He then flips the trap upside down.
And THEN:
When it starts to get dark, Rowan suggests setting up camp for the night a bit away from where the forest gets thicker, and then they can continue on in the morning.
Kizzirark nods to Rowan. "No fire tonight."
Dahlia nods. "I will gladly take an extra watch so that others can get a full night's sleep. Perhaps Kizzirark and I can split them? What do you think, good-badger?"
Bertram sits on a log. With no attempt at humor, he says, "I will take a late shift. Darkness presents no challenges."
The group clears the glade of all the traps, disarming or simply triggering them, and finds a spot to set up camp as the light continues to wane. Thankfully, enough of the group can see well enough in the twilight gloom to get the camp set up without the aid of a fire.
All is calm - though not quiet, with the omnipresent noises of the forest, scurrying things and chirping insects and hooting distant night-birds, thankfully all distant enough from your campsite to belay any risk or threat - following the fall of the night. The watch is uneventful for the first few hours; those who are not on watch are able to fall asleep at whatever their personal usual rate is, adjusted for those less familiar with the hardships of resting in the wilds.
Your first night in the woods is looking to be a peaceful one, all things considered. You could ask for little more in your position - save the lack of a bountiful feast to look forward to in the morning, especially for those used to the lavish cooking of Redwall Abbey.
Sorry for my lack of posting. Life. I'm fine with taking last watch
Dahlia nods. "I will gladly take an extra watch so that others can get a full night's sleep. Perhaps Kizzirark and I can split them? What do you think, good-badger?"
"I think I'll have to do an incredible job, watching all by myself if at this point you think I'm a 'good-badger'." He shakes his head, faking seriousness. "You for sure isn't a very perceptive mouse."
"I think I'll have to do an incredible job, watching all by myself if at this point you think I'm a 'good-badger'." He shakes his head, faking seriousness. "You for sure isn't a very perceptive mouse."
Dahlia laughs. "How about 'great-badger' instead? I admit it is difficult to think of an appropriate form of address, my experience with your kind being so, uh, limited. I certainly do not wish to give any offense! I could just say Kizzirark, I know. What would you prefer?"
"Kizzirark is more than fine. Kizz will even do, I do not really mind." The badger shrugs. "I would be very surprised if you can do anything to offend me, Dahlia. I have a very thick skin and don't give a f*#$ for many things."
The group makes their camp and selects their watch regimen, and those not staying up to be on the defense settle into whatever methods of sleep work for them. The first few hours of rest are calm, and once those unfamiliar get used to the noises of the night, they are able to drift off to sleep without further interruption.
Kizz's sharp senses, though, are more attuned to the necessities of living in the wilderness and the dangers that it might present.
He's the one who notices the rustling in the canopy that might suggest the arrival of a nocturnal predator like an owl or a tree snake. He's the one that's able to pick out the shadows of subtle movements in the leaves to note motion. He's not able to see what's making the sounds itself, but the signs of its passage don't escape his notice.
There's something there, and it clearly has an interest in the group. The question is whether it's something hungry, something curious, or simply something looking for its own place to sleep and seeing them as much of a potential threat as they might see it.
The night passes, otherwise uneventful; Kizzirark exchanges the watch for the next person with no report of whatever the strange encounter he had was, and heads off to the edge of the camp to his own rest.
When the morning arrives, however, the badger and his possessions are nowhere to be found. The rest of the group finds their camp circle unmolested and no sight of any danger from bandits, wild creatures, or otherwise, but also no sign of Kizzirark or any struggle from whence he might have disappeared.
The trail through the glade that the group had been following still remains, winding off into the trees to the southwest.
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After spending an appropriate amount of time wondering where the drunken badger went, waiting on the drunken badger, wondering if the drunken badger will return, looking for the drunken badger, and then finally making peace with moving on without the drunken badger, Rowan encourages the group further south towards the "broken bridge" marked on their map.
Working together, Dahlia and Rowan are fairly certain they've got the correct direction and set the group out for what they have determined to be southbound.
The woods continue to be thick in this part of the Deep Green, with no real sign of any sort of consistent navigatory guides - no roads or trails, no signs or marks, well beyond the conveniences of civilization. Your ability to negotiate the terrain being mostly determined by your familiarity with nature and the environment to pick out the clues from the landscape along the way.
Insects and birds flit through the trees above and around, and skittering sounds alert the passing group to smaller life avoiding the passing of what, to them, appears as a pack of predators. Even without Kizz, the party is armed and numerous enough to not be messed with by the average wild creature in this area.
You trek for a few hours through the brush, moving steadily south, occasionally pointing out things like the facing of growing moss on trees and rocks or the obscured tilt of the sun above to keep yourselves on track. Your journey is uninterrupted through around what you estimate to be nearing midday.
Dahlia does her best to remain alert while marveling at the various sights in the deep green woods.
As the group moves through the underbrush, navigating their way through the wilderness, the sounds of the Deep Green surround them in all directions. Nothing seems out of the ordinary, and any wild creatures in the environment are nowhere nearby to serve as a threat. There is nothing in sight but greenery and only distant echoes of life to bring ambience to the woods.
Which is why it's all the more bizarre and surprising when as you're walking along, Dahlia is suddenly drenched in a falling downpour of honey and mushed blueberries.
As far as any of you could tell, the sudden drop of sweet disaster came from out of absolutely nowhere. You never spotted any kind of rigging, and there was no sort of tell-tale snapping or twanging of a trap being set off. You were simply walking along, then suddenly blue and gold poured out of the canopy as if tossed aside by a disgruntled kitchenmouse.
Moments after the saccharine calamity, a wooden bowl - seemingly little more than a slightly-depressed piece of bark, chipped and cracked by hand into the vague shape of a scoop - drops to the ground with a soft thunk. It's glazed in the same materials, with visible signs of spillage along the outer edge on one side. A broken piece of spiderweb hangs ragged from the opposite rim.
Dahlia blinks several times in surprise, attempting to clear the honey and berries from her eyes and fur with the back of her hand. She peers into the trees to try and discover where the bowl and its presumed contents may have recently been stored. She looks a quick warning back at the others, unsure if she should cry out danger or try to avoid drawing attention.
Rowan's staff whips forward into readiness as he searches in every direction at once for some sort of threat.
"Is someone trying to sweeten you up?" he asks of Dahlia, not really expecting that she knows more about the situation than he does.
There seems to be no sign of anything out of the ordinary in any direction, other than the scoop-bowl and the puddle of mixed sweets. The group appears to be alone, devoid of even wild creatures in the area.
Dahlia looks suspiciously and somewhat fearfully into the trees again, and backs slowly away. "Whatever it was that did this, it either does not want to be seen, or cannot be seen." Her whiskers tremble as she looks around and shrugs. "Whatever it is, let us assume it does not wish to be disturbed." She clears her throat and says (a little too loudly): "We are very sorry for disturbing you. We will leave you be." She motions to the others that she thinks they should continue away.
Rowan screws up his snout in disapproval at the obsequious apology, but he certainly doesn't want to start an argument in front of whomever wants to turn Dahlia into a confection. He starts to move in the direction she indicates.