Lucius and Ignatius were seasoned hands when it came to setting up their camp. They easily retrieved their tent from what seemed to be a disorganized pile of sacks, bags, and boxes. Paris regarded the size of the bag with dubious curiosity, but from the too-small-seeming package they unfolded, little by little an unexplainably large piece of canvas. The stakes and line came next. Then, when they had these articles laid out carefully in the sand. Lucius returned to the wagon, reached around the rear wheel and under the floor where Paris had slept, and slid several long sections of wooden poles underneath, and towards the back of the wagon. Once exposed from their hidden housing, Lucius took the few short steps to pull them free. He united them with the remaining pieces that lay in the sand, then he and Ignatius deftly formed a tent that looked capable of housing not only the three of them, but likely three more people.
Once the tent erection was complete, Lucius and Ignatius returned to the wagon to retrieve several more parcels. Once they retrieved these, they ducked under the flap into the darkness of the tent, then emerged, simultaneously, several minutes later, and empty-handed.
Ignatius again made his way to the wagon, and grabbed a bulky, lumpy, brown, oily-looking, calfskin bag, which he toted to a point approximately ten feet from the door of the tent. He carefully placed it down, positioning it in a manner so it stood up straight from the ground, then he uncinched the ties at the top of the bag, and began removing several, smaller bags, and a metal pot.
“Kindling please.” Ignatius uttered into the dirt.
Lucius disappeared behind several small hills and around a few nearby rocks, and within a short time, and from retrieved form imperceptible caches, returned cradling an armful of rocks, on top of which rested a bundle of frail twigs.
Lucius crouched near Ignatius, and offered his scavengings to his comrade. Ignatius accepted the fruits of Lucius’s scrounging, arranged the rocks into a small ring, then carefully arranged the brittle wood. Ignatius raised his right hand, cupped his palm, and reached underneath his garments. Paris saw a bulge beneath his clothes near the location of Ignatius’s heart. This slight bulge remained for a long time, while Paris patiently watched nearby.
In one swift motion, Ignatius drew his hand from underneath his garb, and like a snake, striking out at a threat, his hand shot to the kindling. Paris heard a whip-like crack as this occurred, then, when Ignatius’s hand was at the tinder, he saw a quick, minute, motion, that of two fingers pressed forcefully against each other, then projected in opposite directions. He heard a sharp pop, then, the twigs suddenly ignited. Yellow and white flame shot towards the sky, swayed back and forth, pushed by a wind that Paris could not see, then shrunk back down, licked at the rocks like a hungry red salamander, then settled into moderate undulation.
Ignatius then reached into one of the smaller bags that he had liberated from the large, leathery bundle. He retrieved, what looked like, a pinch of salt, and flicked it into the lazy flames. The fire glowed white, then purple, and from his vantage several feet away, Paris could feel intense heat radiating from the campfire.
“Water.”
Again, Lucius vanished. And in a few short minutes, he returned with a vessel containing several cups of water. Ignatius carefully balanced the metal pot on the edges of the rocks and over the searing flame, then poured the water into the cookware. In short time, a vigorous boil occurred. Then, Ignatius was adding handfuls, then sprinkles into the water, that he removed, seemingly at random, from the little sacks laid near his cooksite. Ignatius added a few dashes of an oil from a small bottle, then, what looked like some dried vegetables and meats. Tantalizing smells began to rise from what was now a stew, and Paris found his stomach rumbling with anticipation.
Around ten or so minutes passed, and the tantalizing scents continued to waft into Paris’s nostrils. At the point when Paris thought he could no longer stand the olfactory torture, nor suffer the spasms in his abdomen, the question of “how soon until this is ready?” began to rise from his throat, and almost spilled from of his lips. He was making the “Ha” sound when Ignatius raised a hand and beckoned with a few swift flicks of his fingers.
Ignatius tucked his hand into his sleeves, then reached forward and grabbed the pot, the cloth of his garb providing a buffer between his skin and the heat. He shifted to the right and placed the pot directly on to the ground. Paris and Lucius sat down within reach of the stew, and the trio formed a triangular shape around their meal. Ignatius reached into another of his small bags, and produced three worn-looking utensils. He shifted one to his empty hand, then passed the others to Paris and Lucius.
They took turns dipping into the pot, their communal meal consumed with an uncanny balance of timing, consideration, and respect, no individual reaching for a bite at the same time as another. They dined silently, but for the smacking of their lips, their thirsty slurps, and satisfied gulping sounds coming from their throats.
When the solids in the pot were completely consumed, Ignatius retrieved a small chunk of hard bread from one of his parcels, and broke it into three palm-sized chunks. They took turns dipping their bread into the broth, soaking up the flavorful liquid, then taking bites of the softened bread. Before long, the pot was empty, but for a few clinging droplets.
Ignatius took the pot, and shook out the remaining fluid onto the dirt. He carefully packed away all the little sacks into the larger, oily, brown bag. He hoisted it over his shoulder, walked over to the wagon, and deposited it among the other cargo.
Ignatius then joined Lucius, and the two entered the tent together.
A few minutes went by, then Paris heard a voice through the open door of the tent.
“Will you be sleeping out in the heat of the sun, traveler?”
Though there was no one to witness it, Paris shook his head sillily when he realized that he was still sitting in the dirt in front of a non-existent pot of food.
Paris rose to his feet, gathered his bag, then sluggishly walked towards the tent, the stew having had a curiously soporific effect on him.
The interior was dimly lit by the pale rays of early day, that penetrated the darkness through the open flap. Paris had little difficult, though, finding a spot for his bedroll in the spacious interior. Once he had prepped his sleeping arrangements, he returned to the door, and closed off the trio from the daylight.