Morning came much too quickly for Steve’s liking. There were no snooze buttons on any alarm clocks. No curtains to pull closed to block out the light. Nestled together under several large fronds, Steve and Sarah slept like the dead. However, as soon as the sun awoke, so did Sarah. Which meant, naturally, so did Steve. He was famous for sleeping through just about anything. If WWIII ever happened, Steve would be able sleep right through it. Not Sarah. If the sun woke her up, then she couldn’t sleep. And if she couldn’t sleep, was it fair that her husband could? So she woke him up with a friendly poke in the ribs, which turned into a friendly jab, which became a hard shake on the shoulder.
“Wake up! The sun is shining and the birds are singing. Let’s get something to eat and get going. I want to make it to R’Tal today.”
Steve groaned and tried to burrow into the ground. How did she do it? How could she wake up and within ten seconds be fully awake and ready to start the day? Yawning profusely, he sat up and looked around. His back protested loudly, unhappy with the sleeping arrangements. Slowly he got to his feet, stretching the kinks out of his back.
“How’d you sleep? I slept great! I didn’t toss or turn at all. I did get a little cold, though,” Sarah said, busy preparing some breakfast for the two of them, “but all I had to do was scoot a little closer to you, and presto, problem solved.” She looked at Steve and held out the pot. “Can you heat this up for me, please?”
Steve glanced in her direction, looked at the pot, and had it simmering in just under a minute. He reckoned he could have heated it faster, but he didn’t want to burn the- what was she cooking, anyway?
“Whatcha got in there?”
“Bundle number two. It appears to be some type of thickened gruel. Before you thumb your nose at me, I just want to say that I think it smells pretty good.”
He wandered over and sniffed the contents.
“It smells great. Can’t wait to have some.”
Sarah studied her husband. No trace of sarcasm, no hints of disdain. Does he not know what gruel is?
“It might taste rather plain, but at least its breakfast.”
Taking his bowl of steaming porridge, he sat down near their former campfire and waited for Sarah to join him. Once she sat down, they both ate in silence, with Sarah waiting for Steve’s disparaging remarks about the quality of food. When none were forthcoming, Sarah watched him for a few moments more. He was truly enjoying it, continuing to eat spoonful after spoonful of the thick glop.
“You actually like it?”
Steve paused with his spoon halfway to his mouth. He glanced at her. “You don’t? It tastes just like oatmeal. Reminds me of my grandmother. Just wish I had a little brown sugar to put on it.”
“Okay, what’s with you? You don’t put up a fuss with the stew last night, and you’re not having any problems with this stuff. I’ll admit it, it’s bland. I don’t really care for it too much. Since when did you stop being so picky?”
“Since it’s clear that the food we’re used to eating can’t be acquired here,” Steve explained. “I keep hoping we’ll cross the next bend and I’ll see a burger joint, but I know we won’t. I know I’m a pain when it comes to eating new stuff, and I’m determined not to do it here. We have food, it might not be the best, but I’m damn grateful it’s there.”
Sarah closed her mouth with an audible snap. This wasn’t the husband she was used to dealing with. Pleased beyond words, Sarah finished her morning meal and set about helping her husband dismantle their campsite.
Steve hoisted the pack (how, exactly, was it getting heavier?) onto his shoulder and took Sarah’s hand. “What do you say we go find this king and queen and find a way home?”