Day two.

It's a lot colder out today, and the sun has yet to make an appearance. Snow should roll in this evening.

So, my stew? Excellent. The 14 hours it spent in the Crock Pot did it good, fairly melting the beef and doing that weird alchemy that takes place when you just let things cook on low temperature for a long time. It was just the sort of hearty, wholesome stick-to-your-ribs fare I should be eating up here. Then, for dessert, I had some blindingly expensive dried fruit from Dean & Deluca, just to hammer home what a citified twit I am. For breakfast, I'm currently making some Irish steel-cut oatmeal on the stove, on the recommendation of everybody who's ever eaten Irish steel-cut oatmeal and then raved about how superior it is to regular oatmeal.

Yesterday, I took a long walk in the morning, down to the landing where people haul their ice-houses out onto the lake, then back up the road and into the woods for a bit. For the first time, I saw a bird up here, a bluejay who was very unhappy to see me, judging from her chattering. Then I came back, ate some lunch and wrote for a few hours, then took another short walk, then ate dinner, then settled down to watch a few episodes of Firefly, which turned into a rather long nap.

I woke up around 8 PM and started writing again, and did so until around 1 AM, with the help of a tumbler of scotch. Around midnight, I heard wolves. They were pretty far off—my guess is on the other side of the river—but Annyong didn't quite know what to do. He barked a few times, then listened in, staring out toward the river. He gave a little half-ass howl of his own. After a minute, it sounded like one of them was getting further away, and then it stopped altogether. It was altogether a little haunting, and a good reminder that I should get all my wood in before dark.

I've found that I'm going through one large bin of wood a day, "one bin" being the metal thing right next to the fireplace. I've got plenty on the woodpile, but the pine and birch there burns a little too quickly for my liking. It means that the fire will be out when I wake up in the morning and often makes for a pretty chilly few minutes while I build a new one.

Annyong's doing pretty well in the cold; he'll wear the little quilted vest that I got him, and he's adopted a funny little walk to prevent his feet from going through the crust atop the snow. Despite this, his front feet will punch through sometimes, and often when he's running at full clip, dumping him head over heels. It's pretty adorable.



Today's passage:

"I am Dayrin Boldsilver, ranger of Rashah," she returned, angered at his defiance at her inquiries. She tilted her sword and pushed the blade into the ground, then leaned upon the pommel.

"Greetings, Dayrin Boldsilver," the man said a moment later, a smooth, quipping edge to his voice. "By what businesses do you come to my forest?"

Dayrin shifted her weight slightly and clenched her jaw, her hands tightening around the hilt of her sword. "I come to your forest—" she slowly slid the point of her blade from the ground "—to strike your mocking head from your shoulders!"

With a guttural snarl Dayrin swiftly yanked her sword from the ground, bringing it around in a roundhouse slash. The man, not in the least surprised, ducked deftly and kicked out at the raging woman's already injured ankle.

What will happen next? Will the man pull out a flail and dance around Dayrin, promptly beating her ass and chastening the cocky ranger? Will they then become fast friends? Stay tuned to find out!

On the docket for today: walking, writing and cooking. Just like yesterday. Ooh. Just tasted my oatmeal. It is incredible.