The rest of the night passed uneventfully for Garinor, which was a warm welcome to him. He sat by the tree quietly, letting himself rest without falling asleep. After the arousal of the camp, the watchman stopped his archery and seemed to slink around the campfire, spying for intruders.
Hours passed by and someone took over the watch. The man had a young voice and he passed the time by singing softly of lost princesses, heroic adventures, scandalous villains, and so on. Garinor felt his talents were wasted singing to himself. He was truly gifted and should have been paid by the royal courts for entertainment. The warm voice drifted through him and he envisioned each story as it unfolded. Garinor was grateful, for it helped the night fly by.
As dawn approached, the others started waking up. Garinor used the noise of their hustle and bustle to move and hide himself in a better location. He expected them to move out at some point and he would need to follow them somehow.
His pursuit of a new hiding place almost put him into view of one of the hunters. She was walking his way, gathering wood for the fire. He caught sight of her at the last moment and pulled himself back behind a thick trunk. It was hard to keep from sight because as he rounded the tree to hide from her, his back was visible to others in the camp.
Luck was still with him, for no one spotted him in the drowsy morning air. When the hunters all gathered back at camp, they spoke in hushed whispers, as if afraid woodland creatures would hear them. Garinor didn’t bother trying to overhear, but looked instead at something he hadn’t recognized the night before.
It was one of the tents in the campsite. He hadn’t gotten around to it the night before, but now he could see it clearly. It was a little larger than the other tents, but it actually wasn’t a tent at all. It was a large canvas covering a wagon of supplies.
Excitement welled up inside of him. He would stow himself away under the tarp and they would bring him right to the place he was looking to go. All he needed was to get onto the wagon without being seen and to tuck himself inside so a casual observer wouldn’t spot him if they reached inside for something. While he wondered how he would manage this, he saw from the corner of his eye that the tents were being taken down and rolled up. Each was held shut by its own support ropes and then they were loaded onto the wagon.
When the last one had been secured and the hunters were making final forays into the wood before departing, Garinor took his chance. He crouched low and scampered toward the wagon. He stuck his head underneath the canvas and then pulled himself up and inside. It was cramped and uncomfortable, and though he knew he was taking a terrible risk by this act, he was thrilled the opportunity was there. It wasn’t easy, but he managed to pull several tents and sacks over his body to conceal himself from view.
Just like the sentries the night before who were supposed to be keeping a keen eye out for him, they and the rest of the hunters now took their time getting underway. Garinor kept shifting his weight back and forth to allow the blood flow to continue into each of his legs in turn. He moved cautiously and was careful not to disturb any of the things he had buried himself under.
Some time later, there was a sort of contest taking place outside among the hunters. It sounded as if they were drawing straws or rolling dice, and as it went on, Garinor realized they were deciding who would be in charge of moving the wagon.
The two sentries Garinor had followed to the campsite were among the four who would either push or pull the wagon along. He could hear them bantering again in their lighthearted way about whose fault it was they’d lost the draw and what one would to do the other to make him pay for it. Some of their quips nearly made Garinor laugh and he bit his knuckles to keep quiet.
The wagon rolled along for hours, following a dirt path that made it easier for the wagon drivers to maneuver. They stopped occasionally for breaks and to switch teams so no one would be fully worn out by the exertion. They seemed to be an overall good group of travelers who, even amidst their quarrels, found ways of working together to ensure everything was done. If Garinor wasn’t being pursued by them and they weren’t so willing to burn down villages, he thought he would have enjoyed enlisting with their band and learning from them.
The jostling of the wagon was painful and Garinor won many bruises from the journey. However, because he was stowed away in the supply wagon, he was able to dig through and nab an apple, which he ate gratefully. Other water jugs were on board as well and when one of them fell over, he grabbed it with his fingers and pulled it toward him, drinking the whole thing so as not to lose any of it.
Carrying on this way, he was able to endure the entire ride. He listened to the calls of the hunters, assuming they would at some time or other stop for good. He would then need to navigate his way off the wagon without being caught and find another place to hide until they embarked again.
The words he was waiting for came back to him at last. “Let’s halt, go find some game, and then get some rest.”
The wagon came to a stop and the laughing sentry piped up, “Sure, Patch, we’ll hide while you go in and tell your mommy you’re home tonight with some friends.”
“Shut up!”
The others laughed then scattered to replenish their supplies and gather food for the night.
Garinor assumed someone would be left behind to watch the supplies, so he didn’t jump up and run for cover. Instead, he shifted himself out from under the tents and turned himself around to peer out from under the canvas. He didn’t see anyone in either direction, so he slid out from the back of the wagon and dropped to the dirt.
Bending to the ground, Garinor checked under the wagon to see where the sentry would be. Spotting a pair of boots off in one direction, he turned around and tried to make sure the others were gone.
He didn’t see anyone else. What he did see, however, was a large herd of cows grazing nearby. There must have been a hundred of them, he thought. They were shifting idly back and forth, and he couldn’t make out any scenery behind them.
He also saw a house and a barn, and it was clear from the way the sentry walked about with authority that the farm belonged to his family. Yet even so, the young man paced about aimlessly, as if afraid to go into the house.
He wondered if he should sneak into the barn and find a place there to catch some sleep or if he should skulk around with the cows, hide among them, and wait to see where the hunters headed first. His body was cramped and kinked from the long ride. Sooner or later, the other hunters would be returning. He needed to move now.