Flight Of Fate

Chapter Three - Grey Days

By the time afternoon rolled around, the skies above hung low with heavy grey clouds, and rain poured down off and on throughout the day.

Kira was cold, wet, and miserable.

Thranduil kept mainly quiet as he ventured back into the wreckage in search for more useful items, insisting that she stay where she was and therefore letting her work through whatever she was going through in her head.

"I think this may come in useful," he announced suddenly, breaking her train of thought.

She looked over to see him standing up in the open end of the tail section, holding a large plastic sheet aloft. She frowned. "What is it?"

"A tarpaulin of some kind," he replied, regarding the plastic in his hand. "It seems to be a decent size, too. I think it will make a good shelter for the nights." His eyes moved to her at her silence. "I do not think you would wish to sleep in the wreckage." A thumb jerked over his shoulder into the ruined aircraft.

Or what was left of it.

"No. I'd never close my eyes," she agreed, and got to her feet. "What are you thinking, like a tent of sorts?"

"Yes. I think it could make a fairly wind and rain proof tent if we rig it the right way," he told her. "And we already have several blankets and pillows. Getting a half-decent seep tonight should not prove to be a problem. I don't know about you, but I haven't slept in over forty eight hours, and I'm exhausted beyond belief."

She nodded. "I am too. I just couldn't settle," she said. She indicated the tarp. "I think you're right – this'll help. Throw it down."

He dropped it into her hands and lowered himself to stand beside her.

"Any thoughts on where to put it?" she asked, gazing up at him.

"Not as yet. I was thinking that after we have something to eat, we could maybe have a wander through these woods and find a suitable area," he suggested. "Only if you are feeling up to it though. If not, I can stumble around myself."

She mirrored his grin. "I'm not as fragile as I look," she informed him. "Yes, that sounds like a good idea. I don't really want to be too far from the plane – or what's left of it – but I don't exactly want to be right on top of it either...it's just not right."

"I know," he said with a nod. "We'll find somewhere, don't worry. I found some bread that hit its use-by date yesterday, but I think it should still be ok. Plus there are some cans of corned beef we can use."

"My turn to prepare it then, seeing as you did the mac cheese," she replied. "Even I can manage some sandwiches."

He laughed. "I assume then that cooking is not your area of expertise?"

She snorted as they made their way back across to where they'd piled the supplies. "I hate cooking," she spat. "Seriously. I can't stand it. I get so bored, just standing around watching something take on a consistency that it was never meant to take."

He tipped his head back and laughed; a deep sound that seemed to flow from his toes. "Then you have the honour of me doing the cooking side of things," he decided. "I do not care for being struck down by food poisoning whilst stuck out here in the back and beyond."

"You're a cheeky sod," she laughed. "Hand me the bread, please?"

He dutifully handed her the loaf.

"It still feels pliable, so it should be alright," she murmered as she peered into the wrapper. "And there's no blue hairy shit growing on it."

Thranduil chuckled. "I am in no need of penicillin yet," he remarked.