Basking in the icy moonlight, Keith supped from a glass of cold tea that he carried around in his belt, in a special flask that he had bartered for a hat and a pair of trousers back in his days of wanderlust. Cold tea was much easier to maintain than hot tea, and could be used as a quick substitute for most medicines in desperate times. These were not such times, instead the moon was able to occupy his full attention, save for those remaining fragments of his mind set up to monitor nearby threats and stop him from spilling tea all down his front.

Forty-five horses stood close by - resting from the long trek, you could say - or more accurately: the car cooled near a tree, panting and pinging as its temperature dropped suddenly. Clive was away gathering sticks to make a fireplace, insisting that things be done properly, and a fine selection of biscuits sat waiting to be sampled in the boot. It was understood that these biscuits would serve as adequate sustenance post-dinner and pre-breakfast (aka night-time) while the five of them stopped the gas stove from setting light to Clive's makeshift mantelpiece, his pride and joy for the little time his attention could be focused. It wasn't worth jeopardising his happiness for a few moments of sleep - his temper might tear away from him and destroy all the biscuits.

Keith thought of warming the tea perhaps, but he knew the others would soon be back and there would be a fresh pot on. Sugar would be required, teaspoons, milk jug, tongs, saucers, cups, tea, milk, water, kettle, oven glove, lemon - in short, all the usual camping supplies. Most of the non-perishable items had been collected over the years, the set honed and refined like a carpenter's tool kit, lovingly perfected and worked with; cleaned, oiled, polished with a chamois, stored in a hand-made box in immaculate condition between uses. Perishables, of course, had been replenished that very morning at the Co-op in the village, except the biscuits which had come from a specialist wholesaler, whose prices on volume were much more reasonable.

For now, the still night was enough to be going on with. Keith realised how peaceful these few moments alone had been, deeply breathing in the tranquility. It was a reflective moment that could so easily have given over to fear, cold, loneliness or boredom. But there were plans, there was purpose; the night had promise and would soon be filled with gaiety and biscuits of the finest variety. It would be some hours, too, before any more driving, or any task even close to so much effort and necessity would need to be accomplished. If the day's driving had taught him anything, it was that rest is as necessary to work as effort. And he was all for putting plenty of effort into the rest.

Claro Intelecto - Hunter's Rocket To The Sky (from Patience)