There was mist rising off the creek and when he roused he startled a deer come to drink at the far shore. The sky was a dim grey cut with a pale blue. The day would be warm. The stones he’d fallen asleep on had stiffened his back and it took long minutes of stretching to work the kinks out. He walked to the stream and knelt on the gravel and dipped his hands in to splash on his face and neck. Then he drank. He held the last mouthful in his cheeks and rinsed his mouth and spat on the stones and rose and walked back to where he’d left his father. He was sleeping. It didn’t seem that he had moved all night and when he put a hand to his brow he found it hot. He covered him with his own blanket from the pack. Becka had put a small sack of supplies in there without his knowing and he was surprised to open it and find bacon, bannock, and beans. He cut the top off the beans with his knife and laid the bacon on the flopped over lid and set it by the edge of the fire once it got going. Then he sat on a rock and rolled a smoke.
