At the pyre:
Embers and greasy smoke float on the morning breezes as Oliver walks up to the pyre. He catches a brief bit of the conversation, "Bastrop can carry some of the gear, not much mind, he's pretty heavily loaded, but some of it." He looks at the crackling fire, wind blowing his thin, fly-away hair this way and that, "Didn't smell much better alive, did they?" The wind shifts and Oliver is shrouded in dark smoke. Coughing and grimacing he takes a stumbling step away, "Bah! Yes, yes. I get it." He glares heavenward, "I'm a hypocrite too." Eyes watering from smoke and coughing he straightens and pauses for a moment, looking thoughtfully at the pyre. He stands that way for some time before nodding at some internal monologue and heaving a big - smoke-free - sigh. He turns to Fendric, "So, Fendric. Why do these," he stabs a finger at the forms on the pyre, "Who chose to attack us, get a prayer, and a bear, driven to its end, gets nothing but your spite." He shakes his head.
***********************
At the stream:
Oliver follows the others to the stream, leading Bastrop and letting the donkey drink its fill. He fishes a small rag and soap out of the pack saddle washing with that rather than submerging himself in the icy water. He wrings out the cloth and goes about getting properly dressed, putting on some heavier clothes and finally buckling on his dark armor. Don't want to get caught without this again.
He looks over to where Niccolo readies himself for the coming journey. In a guttural but somehow lilting language he calls to the young Gnome, "So, Niccolo, what was that you played while the rest of us were dodging orc spittle? Damned if it wasn't a rolicking tune." Settling his weapons about him he picks up his staff and crossbow considering each carefully before hanging the crossbow off of Bastrop's saddle. He walks over to Niccolo and holds a trembling hand out for Alexander to sniff.
He grins at the dog, "There's a good fella." He glances up at Niccolo and says quietly, "Any chance you have something sterner than water on hand?" His eyes are bright, red-rimmed. He coughs and balls his shaking hand into a fist before giving Alexander a scratch behind the ears.
**********************
A bit later:
After Bastrop has had his fill, Oliver checks the packstraps and unhooks Winkle's basket cage. The cage floor is covered with piles of mottled dark gray down. Gleaming white feathers are beginning to show on the young owl's neck and wings. The rickety man looks admiringly the bird's new feathers.
"You're a mess, Winkle." The owl blinks its amber eyes and screeches mightily in hunger. Oliver swears equally mightily as he dodges the bird's beak and claws trying to fish the down from between the bars of the cage. "Relax, we'll have something to feed you soon. Any of you lot know a thing about birds? I sure don't." He spots Raven disappearing into the forest and springs up, joints popping in protest. He grabs up Winkles cage and hands it off to a startled Orbril, "You like animals, right?" He dashes off after the rangy woodsman, his wheezing cough as he struggles to catch up the only thing marking his passage in the thick undergrowth.
"Mind if I tag along? I'll be as quiet as the grave." He winces as he coughs again. That might be closer to the truth than I like.
Move Silently: 19+7 = 26
. Listen 18 move silently 19 Survival 17, i'll try to level up this weekend]
