*continuation*
Part one is exceptionally in two sections since i'm too lazy to combine them, do enjoy and read chapter 1, part one.
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Pascal whipped up a scroll out of his dusty rug sack and laid it out against the auburn oak bark. Beer stains had smudged half of its context, and the paper itself was sooty and weather-worn.
He cleared his throat and mumbled:
“Ha…ha..hayl… thoo a…a…”
“Give me that!” I snapped and yanked the ass-wiped scroll out of his rather hefty hands.
“Crossroads by noon.”
“I never claimed to be a role model, you know”
“Well you certainly aren’t one. In fact I’m utterly speechless yet impressed. You’re phenomenal ill-literalism may one day aid researchers in their study of the human brain. In your case, they’ll be amazed to find a deformed lump of meat. “
I neatly folded the ravaged scroll and stuffed it back into the gaping mouth of the rug sack. The moist insides within caught me utterly off guard, sending me tumbling on the ground, wiping my soaked hand on the green lushness of the grass.
“PASCAL!!!”
It turned out that to my disgust that the mushroom stew Pascal had eagerly consumed earlier had decided to reappear whilst he was blindly crawling befuddled amidst the hedges, and ironically the container he decided to utilize sat right on his head. Well, at least he found his helmet.
Luckily, he believes in recycling.
We set up an insignificant, petite camp by a shallow mountain stream. I sent Pascal off to collect firewood as I divided the remaining portions of food and philosophized over the mystery of our existences.
Pascal made me flinch as he tapped my back with a hoard of logs, and we set up a large campfire to keep all wondering wolves at bay. Sitting on both sides, we warmed our frostbitten fingers by the flames. By nightfall, struggling to stay awake our heads began to nod in the comforting warmth.
“Pascal?”
“What is it?”
“Why does the name “Raymond” keep constantly constantly in my mind?”
Pascal raised his head and stared at me amidst the flames.
“It’s perfectly normal, I reckon. There comes a time in every man’s life when you want to “go on a little adventure” and “experime-“
“Not that you accursed fool! I've just heard the name before, but it doesn’t ring a bell”
“Well a “Raymond” happens to be our assigned commander”
“Still not ringing”
“…”
Pascal leaned towards me, almost allowing the flames to lick on his stubble of a beard, like in another one of his superstitious horror stories.
“You haven’t heard the story of RAYMOND OF TOLOUSE?”
As he finished the last letter, a sudden tempestuous gust of wind smashed against our shabby encampment. All flames were knocked out and the firewood scattered. We were forced to throw ourselves against the ground, holding our hurting ears.
In a blink of an eye, everything was dead silent. Lights out, the shimmering stars had been suddenly enshrouded by an ebony curtain.
“Firewood, quick!” I ordered as we reconstructed our former encampment. We threw the charred logs back into their assigned ring and I pulled out my flint. I could almost feel the wolves breathing down my neck as I fiddled mindlessly with the equipment.
“Fella, hand it over!” Pascal squealed as I tossed the flint over. With a gleaming flash the logs were engulfed in flames again.
“Now” Pascal whispered with his eyes gaping wide.
"…I will tell you the story of Raymond of Tolouse."
[To be continued]
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