The soft crackle of a freshly lit campfire hissed into the air as Luke sat crouched in front of the flickering flame, poking a dry twig into the glowing embers. Their little campsite was modest—nothing elaborate or noble—but enough to keep them sheltered from the whims of the wild. The makeshift tent was stretched between the carriage and a nearby pine, held together by a thick cord and nails he had hammered into the bark and ground with the butt of a small mallet. Over it, a tarp flung across in a loose triangle, weighted at its base with stones to keep the wind from tugging too hard.
It wasn't glamorous, but it did the job.
The inside space under the tarp was tight but cosy. Had the carriage not been brimming with sacks of dried food, extra clothes, and equipment, Luke might've opted to sleep inside it. But this configuration gave them more breathing space, and it allowed Vartha her resting spot nearby.
