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Ealasaide · 11-06-2003, 06:19 PM

"Sorry," the blond girl murmured, taking the empty bucket from Ragnar and handing it on to his cousin behind her.

He realized as she turned away that he probably should not have glared at her the way he did, but she was holding things up. When one person slacked in a situation like a bucket line, it could hold up the entire works. You either had to take part and keep up or get out of the way. He and Olav had built up a good rhythm, handing the buckets back and forth and, for a while, she had kept up pretty well. He turned and took the full bucket from her hands.

Passing it on the man ahead of him, Ragnar looked forward into the smoke. Anybody could see that the stable was a lost cause. They should just let it burn and concentrate instead on keeping the fire from spreading to the rest of the inn’s grounds. Whoever it was back there yelling about starting a second bucket line had the right idea.

He took an empty bucket from the hands of the man in front of him and handed it back to the girl. Then, shaking his head, he stepped out of the line and pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket, which he used to wipe the sweat and soot from his face. He could see the stable master from where he stood. The man had tried valiantly to save what horses he could, but now just stood there with his face in his hands.

“Poor guy,” Ragnar said to himself. “Wouldn’t want to be in his shoes.” Nonetheless, he was grateful that he had left his own horse well away from the inn’s grounds.

He walked a short distance away and, finding a spot against the fence, leaned back and watched the chaos. He could see Olav’s blond head and broad shoulders as his cousin worked away still on the bucket line. He knew that he should be helping as well, but, being the practical sort, he saw no point in wasting his strength on a lost cause. Idly, he watched the loose sparks swirling on the hot breeze in the courtyard. Those sparks were the truly dangerous part now. Turning his gaze in the direction of the inn’s roof, he saw precisely the sight he had been dreading. A gust of wind had carried some of the sparks upward over the inn’s main building. The roof had begun to smoke.

“Ah, confound it...” he muttered under his breath and crammed his handkerchief back into his pocket. He pushed himself away from the fence and began to sprint in the direction of the inn.

“Olav!” he shouted over his shoulder. “Olav - the roof!”

He watched just long enough to see Olav’s soot-streaked face turn in his direction, then turned his full attention to the problem of keeping the inn’s roof from catching fire. Looking ahead, he saw that a large tree grew just adjacent to the inn. He could easily reach the roof by way of the tree, but getting water buckets up there was another matter. Nonetheless, as far as he could see, it was the only way. Reaching the tree, he grasped the rough bark of the lowest limb and pulled himself up.

“Here,” said a voice behind him. “Take this. You can haul the buckets up with it.”

Ragnar turned and saw that a man, a stranger to him, had followed him to the tree and was offering him a rope. Ragnar grinned and, taking the rope, slung it over his shoulder. It tickled him to be handed up a rope by one of the good townspeople. He’d always seen himself as more the type to be dangling from one. He and Olav would have a good laugh about that later. In the meantime, he had work to do. He went back to climbing and gained the roof in no time. Stepping out on to the inn’s roof, he found it in much better shape than he had feared, smoking mightily, but only in a few places. He went to the edge of the roof and dropped the end of the rope down.

By then, Olav had joined the man who had provided the rope. He held a full bucket of water in each hand. The blond girl from the bucket line stood behind him with a third. The stranger took the end of the rope and tied it to the handle of one of Olav’s buckets. When the knot was secure, he gave the rope a tug. Ragnar hauled it up and dumped its contents on smokiest spot. They repeated the procedure over and over again. Each time an empty bucket went down, the Olav or the girl ran to the well to refill it. Finally, when the roof was thoroughly doused and no longer smoking, Ragnar tossed the rope down.

Exhausted, he sat down on the edge of the roof, letting his feet dangle over the side. From his vantage point on the roof, he could see that the bucket line over by the stable had finally begun to contain the fire.

[ 11:52 AM December 01, 2003: Message edited by: Ealasaide ]

11-06-2003, 06:19 PM	#196
Ealasaide Shadow of Tyrn Gorthad Join Date: Sep 2003 Location: The Fencing Lyst Posts: 810	"Sorry," the blond girl murmured, taking the empty bucket from Ragnar and handing it on to his cousin behind her. He realized as she turned away that he probably should not have glared at her the way he did, but she was holding things up. When one person slacked in a situation like a bucket line, it could hold up the entire works. You either had to take part and keep up or get out of the way. He and Olav had built up a good rhythm, handing the buckets back and forth and, for a while, she had kept up pretty well. He turned and took the full bucket from her hands. Passing it on the man ahead of him, Ragnar looked forward into the smoke. Anybody could see that the stable was a lost cause. They should just let it burn and concentrate instead on keeping the fire from spreading to the rest of the inn’s grounds. Whoever it was back there yelling about starting a second bucket line had the right idea. He took an empty bucket from the hands of the man in front of him and handed it back to the girl. Then, shaking his head, he stepped out of the line and pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket, which he used to wipe the sweat and soot from his face. He could see the stable master from where he stood. The man had tried valiantly to save what horses he could, but now just stood there with his face in his hands. “Poor guy,” Ragnar said to himself. “Wouldn’t want to be in his shoes.” Nonetheless, he was grateful that he had left his own horse well away from the inn’s grounds. He walked a short distance away and, finding a spot against the fence, leaned back and watched the chaos. He could see Olav’s blond head and broad shoulders as his cousin worked away still on the bucket line. He knew that he should be helping as well, but, being the practical sort, he saw no point in wasting his strength on a lost cause. Idly, he watched the loose sparks swirling on the hot breeze in the courtyard. Those sparks were the truly dangerous part now. Turning his gaze in the direction of the inn’s roof, he saw precisely the sight he had been dreading. A gust of wind had carried some of the sparks upward over the inn’s main building. The roof had begun to smoke. “Ah, confound it...” he muttered under his breath and crammed his handkerchief back into his pocket. He pushed himself away from the fence and began to sprint in the direction of the inn. “Olav!” he shouted over his shoulder. “Olav - the roof!” He watched just long enough to see Olav’s soot-streaked face turn in his direction, then turned his full attention to the problem of keeping the inn’s roof from catching fire. Looking ahead, he saw that a large tree grew just adjacent to the inn. He could easily reach the roof by way of the tree, but getting water buckets up there was another matter. Nonetheless, as far as he could see, it was the only way. Reaching the tree, he grasped the rough bark of the lowest limb and pulled himself up. “Here,” said a voice behind him. “Take this. You can haul the buckets up with it.” Ragnar turned and saw that a man, a stranger to him, had followed him to the tree and was offering him a rope. Ragnar grinned and, taking the rope, slung it over his shoulder. It tickled him to be handed up a rope by one of the good townspeople. He’d always seen himself as more the type to be dangling from one. He and Olav would have a good laugh about that later. In the meantime, he had work to do. He went back to climbing and gained the roof in no time. Stepping out on to the inn’s roof, he found it in much better shape than he had feared, smoking mightily, but only in a few places. He went to the edge of the roof and dropped the end of the rope down. By then, Olav had joined the man who had provided the rope. He held a full bucket of water in each hand. The blond girl from the bucket line stood behind him with a third. The stranger took the end of the rope and tied it to the handle of one of Olav’s buckets. When the knot was secure, he gave the rope a tug. Ragnar hauled it up and dumped its contents on smokiest spot. They repeated the procedure over and over again. Each time an empty bucket went down, the Olav or the girl ran to the well to refill it. Finally, when the roof was thoroughly doused and no longer smoking, Ragnar tossed the rope down. Exhausted, he sat down on the edge of the roof, letting his feet dangle over the side. From his vantage point on the roof, he could see that the bucket line over by the stable had finally begun to contain the fire. [ 11:52 AM December 01, 2003: Message edited by: Ealasaide ]