A Trek of A Storyteller

Ch.27: July 31st

When he returned to camp, shoulder aching and still no progress with his knife. Instead of returning to the shop he'd commandeered, he instead set up his old camp. Just as it had been, with his tarp once again hanging over the table.

Reluctantly, he returned his boots. He polished them as best he could with the little muddy rainwater his bottles had managed to collect and placed them exactly in the cupboard once again. He was barefoot now and he was thankful that he was able to properly pick up his feet without the too-large boots weighing them down. He ran laps for a few minutes before he retreated back to his camp, dancing up the stairs.

He organized everything neatly, hiding his guitar beneath a few loose boards despite knowing that in a little more than a month he'd have to pack it all away again. Bast was happy to have her old bed of cloth back and curled up on it happily.

Each morning, he woke up and snatched up his satchel, once again wearing his knife on his rope belt as he walked out to that tree with Bast close by so she too could enjoy the breakfast of jerky. He had grown only slightly better at throwing his knife. It still would not spin right, but he was able to hit the tree trunk.

When July 31st came around, it came as a shock to the boy. He did not realize until he awoke to the sound of distant voices. Hurrying around, he hid everything he could. Everything except himself. Bast was long gone, hidden in the woods behind the festival somewhere he was sure.

He kept his fingers ready in apprehension over his knife. Peering over the edge of the Oaktale Compass, he could see three men.

One was rather tall and thin with curly black hair. He did not speak much but he was not stiff and smiled easily, a quiet smile always lingering on his lips the boy noticed.

Another, just a few inches shorter than the first had light brown hair. He was muscular, though not buff. He seemed rather stony, the boy thought, and did not look to smile at all. He had a commanding air, a silence that was loud.

The third was the shortest, though not by much. He had a thick beard and smiled brighter than any of them. He was the most muscular and clearly the happiest as he waved and spoke to other's setting up their stages.

The boy tilted his head at the three, all so different and yet so close. He listened in to their conversation as best he could, catching only a single sentence from the second man.

"Will you put my guitar up top for now?" he gestured at the first man towards the Oaktale Compass. The boy whispered an oath and sank down behind the wall, looking around in a panic. Seeing his only option, he jumped over the far wall, hanging onto the ledge and finding two small grooves in the cracked wood to hook his fingers. He kept his feet tucked on the low edge so that his bare feet would not hang below the building.

He stayed still, barely breathing as he heard footsteps in the Oaktale Compass. His satchel hung heavily around his chest, constricting his ribs. He did not dare move, not even when the man called to the other's from the top.

"It doesn't look like they've arrived yet. Do you think we should help with benches before they do?" he called. There was a distant reply.

"Probably, I wonder if they'll come tomorrow. Let's get unpacked and then we can work on benches, but we still have quite a bit to get out here," it was the third man again. He laughed, a good sound that made Jackson smile despite himself.

He waited until he was sure no one else would come up, his fingers growing numb and his arms, though strong from rowing, shook from the strain of holding himself up. He hoisted himself over the railing and kept himself in the corner until night fell and he was confident enough to creep out.

The three men had only managed to get half of the benches laid out. Being too shaken to sleep just yet, Jackson took it upon himself to do the rest. It took him many hours, his watch was ticking angrily at him when it reached two in the morning, but at last, at four, he had set the rest out. He did not know why, but he felt it was important to help them, and so he did.

He bivouacked on the Witchwood Stage, far enough away from both entrances so that he'd have time to escape before anyone caught him.