NEVER SPLIT THE PARTY: The Adventures of the Creeping Bam (BOOK 1: The Job)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: ART

One of the great things about having a massive golem in your party is that, if you want to stay discreet, they can be a real bonus. Might sound weird, what Gael sometimes like to call a paradox, but it's true. Take now, for example – since we're being hunted right now, we're trying our best to hide, but since there ain't much forest round right now, we can't just screen ourselves with trees or undergrowth while we make camp. Just stopping right in the valley floor right now's a dumb move too – we're easy to spot right now, what with our horses and a big bloody cart, and starting a campfire's just asking for trouble. So we gotta find some proper decent cover right here in these barren climes, which is a tall order.

Thanks the gods for Yeslee, then. She found us a nice cave an easy climb low in one of the cliffs near our path, complete with some nice screening rock ridges lower down we could hide our horses and cart amongst. But of course, you might say, what about when you try to light a fire? That's gonna light up a hole in the side of a mountain clear as a beacon, right? Or are you all just gonna go in there in the dark and not have a fire, just cold dry meat for dinner and some of you can't even see what you're doing?

That's where Driver 8 comes in. He settles in the modest little crevice that forms the mouth of the cave and we could've set a whole big blaze down in here and nobody'd be any the wiser out there. He can stand there all night if he wants, no complaints, no problem at all. Guy's like a statue, albeit one that keeps a close eye on the night. Best part is he can watch the horses and cart in their nice little alcove below from here, no need for any of us to camp out down there to keep an eye on things. We've already brought all our gear and supplies up into the cave with us, Big Man lugging the big mystery crate himself without any trouble at all, so we're safe as houses.

Not that Kesla's that happy about this arrangement. She's happy with the cave and the precautions like the rest of us, but she seems real uncomfortable having that crate in here with us, and when we were eating she kept casting wary, suspicious glances in its direction the whole time. I don't know what her problem is, but it's making me a tad nervous too, now I'm thinking about it.

She's chilled some since the others bedded down for the night, but I still catch her eyes flickering to it every once in a while. To be honest there's not really much else for her to do right now – given their condition when we arrived, Kesla took it easy on Gael, foregoing the usual sword-training-come-torture in favour of some tips, tricks and advice she largely imparted verbally. Not that she was any less merciless in making sure her student was absorbing it all, hammering points home until Gael was able to repeat them verbatim, but the young wizard responded impressively well, picking it all up very keenly indeed. The trade-off is that Kesla has no need to clean or sharpen her sword tonight while we sit our watch, so all she can do is stew.

Personally, I'm fine. Like I usually do when I find I some downtime and nothing to occupy myself with, I take out one of the various little pieces of wood I collect during our travels and get out my special whittling knife. I rarely keep the pieces I finish, preferring to make gifts of them as we travel. I gave a few to Paul's kids when we last came into Hocknar, which went down wonderfully well indeed, while several others have gone to various girls I've known during my years on the road, both on my own and with the party. Others just go to friends on the way, and each of my companions have been gifted at least one little keepsake in our time together.

I don't tend to put a lot of thought into the whole process, but as I'm whittling away the wood tends to talk to my paws, guiding them well enough that I don't really have to think too much about what I'm carving out with my knife either. Most pieces form on their own, whatever they want, I have no preference of subject matter, but I do find myself carving cats or prancing horses more than most other things. Who I wind up presenting the pieces to is often incidental, but every once in a while a piece in particular might decide it definitely belongs with one specific person, and I don't tend to argue.