With the diligent efforts of the unlikely posse from Dodge City, the camp had been relocated to a place that was a little bit further to the north, a mite closer to their destination, but more importantly further enough away from the site of the encounter they'd just experienced. The sun rose just on time, as it was known to do, and the camp stirred slowly, as camps were known to do.

The watch order that Wyatt Earp setup went off without a hitch, and though just about everyone was given a turn at the watch, none of them was disturbed from their post from any frightful spectres of the night such as the ones that had come upon their last camp. The remainder of the night had gone peacefully, save for the sound of wolves howling at the full moon.

Those who rose earliest would have found Texas Jack sitting at the fire, taking the last watch of the night that bled right into the morning and drinking coffee from a tin cup. Fortunately, there was plenty more where that came from.

Although the shaman had been spotted several times by the sentries, variously wandering the middle distance, staring at the sky, or crouched listening to the wolves,  he seemed to have slept at some point. His usual quiet energy ringed his movements as he wrapped his hands with cloth against the sun and wrung his hair out beside where he sat. Tea was long ready, and neatly-butchered snakeskin fluttered from a nearby bush, drying in the dawn breeze.

Korpi peacefully picked over kibble with precise attention nearer Jack. There was no sign of Igor yet, but for now the Siberians seemed unconcerned, taking things as they came.

Sky Dog shoved his hair back over his shoulder and set to warming fat in his skillet, quietly humming some tune far back in his throat. The fire had already recieved the day's first tea leaves and the tailtip of the snake.

"Think your reindeer got eaten by wolves too, Chalky?" he asked cheerfully, sitting down at the fire near Sky Dog, watching the man warming fat in the skillet with curiosity. For his part, John Collins took some coffee offered by Texas Jack, and spiked it with a bit of whiskey before taking a deep gulp of the coal black liquid.

Sky Dog just slid Collins a grin. "He has not been so yet, for many times they are trying it," he replied, then squinted at the southward sky in a vain attempt to discern what kind of birds were becoming interested in the carrion.

"If you wish to cook a thing, my pan is as your pan," he offered, noting Shotgun's gaze.

Coraline returned to the camp after finding a secluded area to do her business.  She'd washed up as well as best she could with only one arm.  Still, she looked presentable for a woman traveling through the frontier and had even changed into one of her comfortable riding dresses.  It was a fashionable bit of muslin and lace, though far less encumbering than one of her bustled gowns.  If not for her bandaged arm, she could have been a member of the gentry out on a casual ride.

Her search for a seat near the fire took longer than it should, for she was bound to find the most comfortable place to sit.  Eventually, she settled on a rock (after dusting it off) and pulled a tin cup from her pack to fill with coffee.  It wasn't quite her taste, but it was a hot beverage and she desperately needed the caffeine.

"Good morning," she said pleasantly.

Gabby groans when he wakes, at dawn as usual. Cross-grained, he stretches, feeling his joints pop and shift as he looks out blearily across the prairie. Out of deference to the lady, he forgoes his normal waking-up swear, then began working the aches and pains out of his joints once again. A sudden battle with demons followed by moving camp and being woken up at least once during the night to sit watch hadn't done his old bones any good.

Clementine was already up, bouncing around as usual, tearing around the campsite. Gabby watched her for a moment and smiled, then got up to find a bush to do his necessaries for the morning and wash up in the nearby lake. That done, he staggered over to Bessie, his mule, and unpacked his coffee pot and some beans. It was time to wake.

"Monrin'." He mumbles to Cora as he pours her a cup. He's not quite awake enough to manage more than that quite yet.

"Cora," Korpi noted, sidling around attention from a somewhat soggy Clemya.

Sky Dog gave the canine a pensive look, then beckoned her over with a strip of meat. He left it on the ground for her as he set about adding salt, sage and savoury to his pan and frying up snakes for whoever had asked the night before, occasionally pausing to sip chai.

"Don't mind if I do," he said, wandering over to a distant corner of the camp where he had tied up a pack in a tree. It wasn't a hard climb, and he took it down and brought it over to the fire where the Siberian was cooking.

"Figure we can cook up some bacon," he said retrieving some from the pack, "whenever you're done cookin' those...snakes. What kinda snakes are they anyway?"

Sky Dog nodded to the skins. "Some brown kinds. I do not know your word for them. Less bitter, than the ones like instruments."
He considered a moment. "Perhaps it would be well to place some in together - I think it might go very well, for the meats to take the fats of each other."

"Yeah, I guess you wouldn't know the word, would ya? Well, if you wanna cook 'em up together, that works for me. I ain't never tried snake before. Never too late to try somethin' new," he said, handing off the bacon to Sky Dog. "You eat a lotta snakes in Siberia?"

The shaman accepted the meat and set to adding it to the fixings. "There are not so many to be caught...mostly, we eat caribou. God's deer, yes? Not the people's." In clarification, he added: "-the Russians do not understand they have a different soul, these animals: they are different, though they have the same shape. You cannot milk the caribou!"

He frowned slightly, watching what he was doing. "Other animals, we eat...fresh fish in summer, when the water moves...berries, cedar nuts, good things. My friend that was from Finland, who came to look at all the rocks, he ate some of a Lifter corpse. Ha! Ha, he said it tasted like boots! Russian boots, I was laughing that he wanted to eat it, that has been in the ever-ice since the Flood!"

He grinned. "It is mostly caribou we eat, though." The shaman gave Korpi a sliver speared on the tip of his small knife; she took it carefully, not touching the cooking implement. Sky Dog watched her reaction carefully and adjusted the seasoning a little.

"-It is the first shape the male shamán learns to take with his soul, to go to the Lady of the Forest and please her, that she is fertile and there are enough caribou to eat," he mentioned in the manner of one describing the climate, then looked to Shotgun. "Do you bring a plate?"

"You gonna eat some snakes too, Miss Hawthorne?" he asked her with a grin, seating himself beside her at the fire.

"I most certainly will not," she replied firmly, glancing sidelong at Bat. "Nor would I ever unless I was absolutely starving and had no other choice.  I prefer food that doesn't slither."  She nodded her thanks to Gabby for the coffee and brought it for a sniff, wrinkling her nose at the first taste.  It was much stronger than she liked, so she rummaged in her pack for the bag of sugar she'd packed as part of her trail rations, dumping a handful into the hot liquid.  She left the sugar out for anyone else that would like some.

Darling was awake with Texas Jack when the rest of the camp began stirring. He was working through his first cup of (slightly bitter) coffee and nibbling a (slightly stale) biscuit, having declined the general offer of a rasher of snake, when Cora offered her sugar.

He sifted a sprinkle into his cup with a smile and extended a paper-wrapped biscuit to Cora in exchange: "How is your arm feeling this morning, Miss Hawthorne?"

He refilled his cup and took a swallow with a contented sigh.

Korpi pattered around the back of Gabby and Cora whilst Sky Dog broke out laughing at Hawthorne's bizzarre theory of judging what was good to eat.

Since she had never seen fully-processed sugar that didn't come in lumps, the intriguing glitter of the substance spoke beguilingly to her corvid brain. Korpi turned her head to look with one eye, then the other: not salt, certainly, the crystals were too small, but it was clearly food...

Glancing between those nearest her, Korpi sidled up and pulled at the edge of the bag until a thin stream of sugar dribbled onto the ground, and tasted it. Oh, this was good.

"There's bacon too, if'n ya want it," he said to Coraline. For his part, he pulled out a tin plate from his pack and handed it to Sky Dog. "As for me, hell, how bad can snake be? I bet it tastes like chicken."

"Wild chicken, yes." Sky Dog served Shotgun a good helping of snake n' bacon, still snickering a bit.

The remainder of the lawmen and gunfighters gathered round as well, some of them partaking of the unusual breakfast treat, some of them sticking to coffee.

"Not bad," offered Bat after trying a bit. "Pretty closed to chicken. Goes well with the bacon. Well cooked, too."

Earp didn't have any though. "Not a breakfast person," was all he said. "After we break our fast, we might wanna see about packing up camp and heading for Oakley."

"Thank you, I would love some bacon."  She speared some with an eating knife and placed it on a small tin plate she retrieved from her pack.  Accepting the biscuit from Randolph, she smiled.  "Thank you, Mister Darling.  My hand feels much better than last night, thanks to the Doctor."

As she took a bite of her biscuit, Cora glimpsed a rustle of black fathers near her foot.  Her lips firmed into a thin line, though she didn't shoo the bird away.  Instead, she slowly pulled her fan from her sleeve, opened it, examined the back for a moment and then slid it back inside her sleeve.

Sky Dog nodded though he had eaten nothing himself, transfering Daniel's well-guarded share to one of his spare mugs and nestling it amongst the coals to keep warm. "It is as well not to wait on us, Wyittearp - I must find my steed, and it is well not to bring the black horse near that of Dalix, for they are both whole males and large...if he has not become rock in the sun, the demon one." Sky Dog looked towards where the black was last seen, eyes narrowed against the light.

Korpi continued to quietly eat the marvellous bagged stuff, occasionally tugging a little at the sack to make more fall out. It was hard to tell that this was the bird seemingly involved in re-killing a Horseman with just a touch.
This message was last edited by the player at 09:44, Mon 27 Jan 2014.

Daniel shrugged at the commentary as he gobbled down his portion of breakfast. Fighting always made him hungry. And often angry. But more hungry. His eyes roamed about to see if anyone might not be finishing their share of the meal.

"Jock don' usually cause prollems, but no harm in bein' safe."

He looked around camp briefly before adding, "I'm ready ta head fer Oakley. No cause ta stay 'round here, right?"