The Many Adventures of Peter and Fi Volume I: Homecoming

Chapter 8- Birds of a Feather

The loon's siren cut through the morning fog, an impatient prelude to the rising sun. The cabin's simple four pane window was no match for the water bird's call as the morning salute invaded its humble interior. Ellie groaned, pulling the linen sheets up and over her head. Five more minutes, she thought, just five minutes of peace please, and I'll happily jump out of bed, I promise. But the loon was not one for making promises.

Again, it broke through the still air, a shrill echo battering the cabin from all sides. Ellie screamed into her soft down pillow, fists beating against the thin mattress fitted into the slender wooden frame. She remembered when the loon's calls were beautiful. This was the forest punishing her naivety.

"I swear on all that is good, I'm going to pluck you today," She grumbled.

Ellie forced herself out of bed and blinked away the drowsiness still clawing at her eyes. Unwilling to move, the cool wooden floor sent shivers up through her bare feet. She begged the sun to hurry and warm her up, but it was not ready to greet her just yet. As she waited in the dim light, the morning dew drops pattering the forest floor were all she could hear. Now it shuts up. She sighed.

Ellie ambled about, slowly motioning through her morning routine. Bleary-eyed, she cleared the ashen coals from the stone fireplace before placing two yew logs in a square hut around a couple fistfuls of kindling. She grabbed the kit that was kept on the mantle and struck flint against yellow steel sending sparks over the dry tinder. After a few flames shot up, she left it alone, hoping the fire would carry on by itself.

Setting free a determined yawn, she brushed the tangles out of her dark auburn hair. Her copper eyes admired her reflection in a hand mirror she had brought along. Tilting it this way and that, she was pleased with the olive tan she had developed. Grabbing her toothbrush, she went to brush her teeth but was met with an empty jar of toothpaste.

Oh, right. She remembered.

With a sigh, Ellie settled on wetting the brush in her rainwater pot and relying on the bristles alone to remove the night's grime. She grabbed a pan and cracked two blue eggs, setting it over a grate on the now cheerily burning fire. Moving to her clothesline, she donned a dark green long sleeved shirt that clung to her arms and a pair of grey cotton pants, fitted tight at her waist. She tied the laces of her boots against her ankles, forgoing her socks; she had long since given up on the idea of keeping them dry.

The crackling sizzle by the fire told Ellie her breakfast was ready. Removing the pan, she poked at the flames before upsetting her rainwater pot over the coals. The embers sizzled in irritation. Fork in hand, she shovelled the runny yolk into her mouth straight from the dish as she went to peruse her scent rack. Forty or so tightly sealed tiny jars were lined along two shelves, each one neatly labelled. Charred Persimmon Slices sat by Crushed Lilacs Along Cranberry Bay which sat by Lydia's Parrot: Azure Smoke. Swallowing the last of the egg whites, she decided on That One Rainy Afternoon in Autumn and plucked the jar from its shelf.

She uncorked the tiny bottle and inhaled deeply. The aroma of soaked grass mixed with the charred odour of burning wax filled her lungs. She was brought back to that thundering night they were searching for Anne's pebble terrier. The friends were drenched in the pouring rain, barely able to see two feet in front of them. Their lanterns burned uselessly in their hands. She remembered later laughing by the fire in the explorer's chamber most of all. The friends sharing hot chocolates as the dog shook himself out by the flames.

"Today's the day." She announced, shouldering her pack, "This time for sure."

The sun had broken over the horizon by the time Ellie pushed open the front door. The modest cabin sat on stilts over the water's edge, the calm tide lapping against the shore beneath. A pinewood dock extended into the lake where her canoe sat upended waiting for her. The sleek finish on the cedar craft retained its lustre, despite the terrible scratches across the hull. The dock creaked with each step she took as smoke rose from the narrow chimney in the thatched roof behind her.