Ethelred is mostly in his own world for two weeks. As the rest of the crew works on their things, he pays little attention. Breaks are only taken in the evening to eat and catch up. Mostly he inquires how the mushroom gathering is going, how the metal filing is going. That we have enough wood and water. Eats a little as possible. Instead he sharpens the wood ax, inspects the metal file, cleans the shovel and breathes.
He ensure the fire is always lit, that water is always boiling. Red is constantly damp, and warm. Like a candle made of water. Ash on his fingers, ash on he face. Yet always clean for the evening meal.
His book is out and he seems to be writing everyday, often into the night. Some nights he sleeps not at all. Just tends to the fire, ensure the water stays hot with steam. The fire and the water. Opposites that fit together so easy when approached correctly.
With all the work, he does seem content, absorbed with study. Burning the candle of the day at both ends. Swimming into the pages of the scrolls. Climbing the ink blots of his book of spells. Burning his flesh, searing his hair.
The days go by consulting the scrolls, writing, reading, stoking the fire, keeping water boiling, reading, writing, fire, water, ash, smoke.. over and over again.
Until the end approaches. He lets the water steam away, lets the fire turn to ash. When everyone is asleep late in the night he brings forth fire as if to light a knife, but instead he folds the fire into a small pool of water in a wooden cup he made. The water rests, a bit less fluid than normal water, with a tint of color. He waves his hands, recites a word, swirls the cup and steam erupts above the rim, leaving behind the hint of warmth and a bit of dampness.
With a sigh of relief Red cleans up and gets a good rest for what feels like the first time in weeks. Tomorrow he will be able to use the stone to gain the next set of scrolls.
