Malcolm Reed (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
tactical_alert) wrote2007-08-29 06:43 pm
tactical_alert) wrote2007-08-29 06:43 pm
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theatrical_muse #193: picture prompt forest and creek
He marched on, doing, as always, what he was told. He didn’t mind. As long as he remembered his allergy medication, the forest was pleasant. Peaceful and quiet, if not for their stepping on sticks and kicking aside stones and the general scuffle of youthful feet.
Besides, joining the Eagle Scouts was a good exercise in honour. His father was always big on honour. (He was also big on getting his son out on the water and teaching him how to man a boat properly whenever he could, and being in the middle of nowhere seemed a much better prospect at the moment.) He was already ahead of most of the other scouts in terms of merit badges, and it would help him become a much stronger, much wiser, much more disciplined person. Or, at least, that was the story his father had told him. One of those Reed family traditions, apparently; one of those ‘I was a scout when I was your age, and my father before that, and look how well we came out of it’ and etc.
They were crossing a stream next, shallow and quick. He wondered if they would be coming back to it to observe the life in it, or if he would just have to do that himself one day. Hopping across moss-covered stones, it seemed.
“Wouldn’t it be easier just to wade across?” he asked Christopher, the boy in front of him.
“Do you want to spend the rest of the hike in soggy shoes and socks? It’s not like it’ll be hard or anything.”
“But I’m sure those rocks are wet; isn’t anyone worried they’re going to slip and crack their head open?”
“The chances of that are a million to one, don’t be such a coward.”
The last word made him bristle, but he couldn’t help pointing out, “Actually, the odds of that are a lot--”
But Chris was already making his way across. Watching him, it seemed easy enough… From the other side of the shore, Chris waved. “Come on, Malcolm!”
Well, it wouldn’t be so bad. Even if he lost his footing, that stream couldn’t be more than five or six centemetres deep. Besides, it seemed like fun. He leapt from the shore to the first stone, then stepped to the next. The third one was smaller, but he could make it with another hop, and then the one after—
His foot lost grip on the small, slippery stone beneath him, and he flailed his arms, falling over and splashing into the stream, which was actually a little deeper than he’d initially thought.
The small spectacle was accentuated by laughter, and he could feel embarrassment flush his cheeks. His soggy clothes clung to his body, and he tried not to let his teeth chatter from how bloody cold it was. Nobody spoke to him for the rest of the hike, but he was certain many of them were talking about him. Maybe spending another day with his father in a boat would’ve been better.
Besides, joining the Eagle Scouts was a good exercise in honour. His father was always big on honour. (He was also big on getting his son out on the water and teaching him how to man a boat properly whenever he could, and being in the middle of nowhere seemed a much better prospect at the moment.) He was already ahead of most of the other scouts in terms of merit badges, and it would help him become a much stronger, much wiser, much more disciplined person. Or, at least, that was the story his father had told him. One of those Reed family traditions, apparently; one of those ‘I was a scout when I was your age, and my father before that, and look how well we came out of it’ and etc.
They were crossing a stream next, shallow and quick. He wondered if they would be coming back to it to observe the life in it, or if he would just have to do that himself one day. Hopping across moss-covered stones, it seemed.
“Wouldn’t it be easier just to wade across?” he asked Christopher, the boy in front of him.
“Do you want to spend the rest of the hike in soggy shoes and socks? It’s not like it’ll be hard or anything.”
“But I’m sure those rocks are wet; isn’t anyone worried they’re going to slip and crack their head open?”
“The chances of that are a million to one, don’t be such a coward.”
The last word made him bristle, but he couldn’t help pointing out, “Actually, the odds of that are a lot--”
But Chris was already making his way across. Watching him, it seemed easy enough… From the other side of the shore, Chris waved. “Come on, Malcolm!”
Well, it wouldn’t be so bad. Even if he lost his footing, that stream couldn’t be more than five or six centemetres deep. Besides, it seemed like fun. He leapt from the shore to the first stone, then stepped to the next. The third one was smaller, but he could make it with another hop, and then the one after—
His foot lost grip on the small, slippery stone beneath him, and he flailed his arms, falling over and splashing into the stream, which was actually a little deeper than he’d initially thought.
The small spectacle was accentuated by laughter, and he could feel embarrassment flush his cheeks. His soggy clothes clung to his body, and he tried not to let his teeth chatter from how bloody cold it was. Nobody spoke to him for the rest of the hike, but he was certain many of them were talking about him. Maybe spending another day with his father in a boat would’ve been better.