Log:You Ever Go Picking Huckleberries?

You Ever Go Picking Huckleberries?
Participants Uschi, Jack Fry	21 April, 2018 Jack meets Uschi out in the wild. A strange encounter for the ranger, for sure.
Location
========-< << Wilderness - Thousand-Corners Trail >> >-========= At some point in its glaciated past, the rocks of this area were worn and cracked and split into a broken-mirror maze of shallow canyons, the bridle trail disappearing amidst the colloquially known 'Thousand Corners'. Short enough for a standing rider to peek up over the edge in some places, others are a good fifty feet high with no rhyme or reason, and the area covers a good half-mile of the slope. Scrubby pines and saplings cling amidst the weather-worn schist bones of the mountainside, mosses and lichens growing wherever a scrap of green-grey stone has built up enough soil to support them. For the most part, the trees are confined to the upper reaches of the cracked canyons, but growth is sparse, true forest not resuming until well past the canyons end. While there are many ways in and out of the Corners, there is only one safe to bring horses through without too much risk to their footing. The occasional bit of litter proves the dangerous paths' appeal to those of younger generations. It's cloudy, it's clear, it's dawn; and while the temperatures are lingering around freezing, at least it isn't raining. Thousand-Corners Trail is aptly named - at this point in the junction of shallow canyons, there are several paths that cut through the rocky surroundings - some surrounded only by stone and dirt, others cutting through sloping earth covered in scrubby trees and brush. The lighting is dim, the shadows are long, but some things aren't to be missed. Like blood on the bridal path. Oh sure, it's not a -lot- of blood, but it's enough; accompanied by a tuft of hair, some marks in the dirt. It's hard to tell what they are, at first - blame the lighting conditions - but it... It doesn't seem human. No. No, it looks like deer fir - and definitely deer prints, heading that-a-way. Down the shrubbier pathway. It's the perfect morning for a ride. Jack's out with Troll and Goblin both; they left his house an hour earlier and has made their way up in a steady pace. The saddle pack suggests he intends to stay out all day, maybe all weekend. It's possible he's working, but it's definitely not something he isn't fond of. The horse, dog and human all breathe out steam in the chill which mingles with the mist. Sounds are muted, but the hooves pad against lose pebbles now and then, and the trio aren't trying to sneak about. Hard to, with a horse. Jack's lazily riding, barely steering the horse, gazing around to keep an eye out for animals or dangers. It's never truly safe, out here. "Hang on," he says - the horse stops as Jack reins it in. Goblin bounds over, sniffing the ground as Jack jumps off to take a look. "Hmm. Wounded," he murmurs, smelling the blood after dipping a gloved hand in it for a moment. With a sigh, he jumps back up on the horse and starts trailing the tracks, much more alert - whatever wounded the animal could still be around. There is a rustling, in the distance over yonder trail, sure. But there are no cries from any wounded dear - no signs of a struggle either; just a trail of blood speckles and hoofmarks that lead out, toward a darker patch of scrub and brush that cling to a shallow curve of canyon wall off trail, peppered with boulders before the rocks eventually peaks upwards at a sharp angle. It's a little while down that trail, until anything else is notable. Well, it'd be hard to miss really. It's a lot of blood. Like... Much more. It trails off, like something's been dragged - the ground is messed up, tracks hard to follow; but it shifts off trail. About three yards away, by some brush and boulders, flies are buzzing in the morning sun. Breeze blows through. Birds tweet. Somewhere, brambles rustle. It's probably going to be a beautiful day, for anyone around to see it. Goblin leads the way, as his nose is much better at tracking than Jack's is. One would hope. The further they go, the more wary Jack gets - he's beginning to question the wisdom of this, as it seems more and more odd. Troll climbs carefully up, Jack sitting easily on the horse and letting the animal chose its own path mostly. Halting, seeing the larger amount of blood, Jack halts. "This is far enough, something is near." He slides off the horse and crouches to check the blood - how fresh is it? Keen gaze sweep the area and he tilts his head to listen; his animals remain still, as if knowing the drill. Even Goblin is lying down with ears perked up. The sun is higher, and that mist is starting to clear away, making it easier to spot things. Should work in Jack's favor. The blood on the path is fresh. It carries on in smears, towards where flies buzz by the boulder-and-brush off trail. It's not the only thing to be seen this morning. Someone is here to see the beautiful day unfold: high up over yonder, on the edge of the shadowy side of the sharply angled canyon wall, rustling intensifies. The breeze that cuts through the canyons turns into a gust -- the boughs of a stunted scrub pine shake and shimmy, and behind them a figure is notable. Perched on a boulder up there, framed by the boughs of that shrug pine, is a person. A woman? A hunched figure, dressed in dirty patchwork clothes -- bare feet pressed against the rock, with their limp left arm scraping against the stone as the breeze blows by. Uschi is watching the trail -- and making no attempt to greet anybody who's passing by. Not even Jack, Troll or Goblin. It is possibly, uh... Unsettling. Troll lifts his head and makes a snorting sound, backing off a few feet nervously; he smells the blood, might even sense Uschi up there. Goblin presses closer to the ground and bares his teeth. This might be because the hairs on Jack's arms rise when his gaze pin-points the woman up there; he almost missed her. He freezes, expression unreadable and shaded by that Ranger hat. He's in an open area, and is a nice target for her up there on the boulder. Nobody shoots him though - he expels air and stops holding his breath. "I see you," he says, his voice carrying well without having to shout. He's a police officer and actually does rescue people out here now and then - this /could/ be someone in need of help. Though his gut suggests something else, he has to be sure. "You need help? You hurt?" Nope -- no shooting is happening. Is she unarmed? Well, Uschi is literally one armed -- it my be cold out, but the woman is wearing a tattered vest, like she was some kind of train hopping crust punk - perhaps she is! It's covered in grime, sure, but the sleevelessness exposes her arms. That left one is most certainly crippled somehow - disfigured and gnarled and immobile - but the woman doesn't seem to be in pain. Well, unless 'confusion' of 'disbelief' is a form of pain. Then Uschi might be. She does understand English, right? Because it takes a good few beats for her to acknowledge or reply -- all she does is shake her head, then turn to look at Goblin for a moment. Something shiny braided into a tassel on her vest glints in the rising sun, and she turns to look back at Jack. When Uschi speaks, her voice cracks like a dry riverbed: "What's wrong with your dog?" Chosing to stare straight at the woman now, tipping his hat back so he has a better view, Jack's features are laid bare - the sun comes in from his side and illuminates him. Tanned face, lines around the eyes and mouth, blue-grey intent eyes. Haven't shaved for a few days at least, but who cares out here? "Nothing wrong. He's just waiting for my commands," the ranger explains simply. "Goblin, come here." The dog bounces over, sits next to Jack, staring up at Uschi too with an intelligence not normal to animals. Troll on the other hand, seem happy to stay away from blood and weird women, tossing his head impatiently. But he stays too, even if Jack's not even holding the reins. This isn't a situation he knows how to handle, meeting weird one-armed ladies out in the wild. Jack scratches the side of his neck, head tilted, puzzled and wary. "What're you doing out here?" Yeah, from the looks of Uschi, she hasn't probably shaved -ever-, so who is she to judge? The mountaineering pack on her back is jostled, as the woman shifts her weight between those bare feet -- still crouched low on the edge of the boulder, watching the ranger and his trusty companions. There's a grunt after 'commands'. Like what, Uschi finds that strange or telling. Weird. While the deer blood may be starting to dry out as the early morning sunshine begins to hit this part of the trail. Not much sunlight gets down in the canyons, but the angle for this curve is just right for early morning illumination. Up there on the rock, though, Uschi's not moving to get out of the cool of the boulder. For a while she's quiet. Did she understand his question? Maybe. She grunts again. "Breathin'. Watchin'. Waitin'." Uschi grunts again, and lifts her chin -- as she does so, she moves closer to the light. Even from this far, her features can be seen more clearly: sun tanned skin, but a kind of youthfulness about her which is oddly weathered at the same time. Life on the road, no doubt... And yet... ...She kind of looks like a Miller. Not that those fancy pants get as dirty as she so obviously is. Uschi grunts again; this time it's almost an accusation. "What're you doin' on this land?" "You and me both then," Jack replies in a near quip, staring at the strange woman; when the light illuminates her further, when she moves, there's a widening of eyes as a memory jogs at the back of his brain. A Miller? Maybe? Does he know her from way back? Everyone grew up - families he knew, their kids that were 10 or 12 or 5 when he left, all adult now. "Breathing, watching. Maybe not so much waiting." Goblin chuffs and is impatiently moving around in a circle now, sniffing the blood, staring over at Uschi now and then, but seem less suspicious. Jack opens his coat up - it's warmer. "Do I know you? You look... familiar. I'm Jack Fry." The Miller clan's been known for their ruggedness, sure -- but not -this- rugged. They built Tamarack Falls up around the logging industry -- and being industrialists, there's a certain level of decorum to be followed. Prestige of being small town royalty comes with certain requirements - strong traditional values, and at the very least a commitment to wearing shoes. Uschi doesn't look like she could even spell the word 'value'. Her head tilts, as she listens to Jack - sniffing in the air, not to dissimilar to how Goblin or even Troll might. The snuffling sound echoes, as does the scratch of rough soles on dry rock. No comment at if she's familiar or not -- instead the one armed woman stops. Hazel eyes widen with curiosity, and her mouth drops open as she silently rolls the words over her tongue. 'Jack Fry'. "...With them cows, right? Used to be a... Whatta you call it; with the frozen cream. Had one, with them wild huckleberry's in it." Some loose rocks shift near the boulder, and tumble down the side of the canyon. Uschi snorts, and peers down at the trail. "You ever go picking huckleberries?" Like this is a perfectly acceptable conversation to be having with a stranger, near a trail of blood, in the wilderness. Jack has encountered his fair share of wilderness 'crazies', but most of them wore shoes. So, he's shifting his feet a little, eyeing her bare feet. "...icecream?" he says, faintly incredulous. "Yeah, dairy farming. A relative runs the icecream shop in Brunsett - Dare." Normal conversation, like he just ran into an old acquaintance on the street - right? Keep it simple. He even relaxes, cause the topic /is/ very easy. "Never picked huckleberries though," he admits. Goblin has found a stick and is tossing it around on his own - waiting for the silly people to be done with the talking, perhaps. Troll is nosing about on the ground to see if there's some grass somewhere, something edible. "You don't need anything then? Like... shoes?" Jack asks, moving to gather the reins of the horse. "Food?" He eyes that blood, and the flies buzzing. "Maybe you're settled, food wise." Huh. 'Dare'. That gets an expression which is practically stonefaced, as Uschi leans in to try and follow Jack's words. Does she have a hard time following normal conversation? Because the wilderness weirdo has started to zone out -- her head tilting this way and that as she looks around. No fear, no doubt - but an intense, unblinking observation of their surroundings. The skies are clearing, up above - the dark outline of crows swooping now and then, cawing out. Breeze blows by, rustling the leaves of the brush and scrub pines around them, giving off a papery sound. While Goblin gnaws on that stick, Uschi turns to observe him too -- unblinking, unsmiling, unwilling to give much away really. Maybe Uschi thinks talking is just as silly as Goblin does. "On the East Bank, there's bushels. Got long thorns, tho'." This said, Uschi turns her head -- looking sharply down the side of the canyon face, where the boulders get bigger and move craggy. At the mention of needing anything, the woman wrinkles her nose - shoes? Food? She snorts, and grunt out some words; "You sure its smart, offerin' up what you got, so easy?" This said, she turns and stares at Jack again -- moving to stand up. Oh. Uschi is... Quite tall. Dead arm swings by her side, then she moves -- jumping down, behind the big boulder she's perched on, like she was moving to find the path back down to where Jack, Goblin and Troll are. Flies buzz in the blushes. Blood dies on the trail. Uschi doesn't reemerge from anywhere. "Thanks. I'll go see if I find them. And I like to think I'm a nice enough guy to help someone out here, if they need it. But I got a feeling you don't need my help," he says, mouth twisting into something akin of a smile. Swinging up on the horse, Jack is about to head out - but he's stiffening up as she starts moving, as if half worried that she is crazy enough to do something. The hairs at the back of his neck are still up - he might sense that something is off, other than how she looks. Noticing how tall she is, his eyes widen a notch at that too and he shifts his hat to shade his eyes, the sun blinding him momentarily. This isn't why he misses her though, when she disappears. Troll dances beneath him, nervous as his owner is nervous. "Yeah, I totally agree," Jack murmurs. Goblin rushes into the bushes, Jack following on the horse. He'll take a better look around. Bare footed, dirt encrusted, and silent - Uschi makes for a poor conversation partner. Or made? Because she doesn't emerge from behind that boulder - Jack can stand there feeling uncomfortable, but Uschi... Uschi seems to have gone. Like really gone. Vanished. Is she still around? Where did she go? Through the shadows on the other side of the boulder? Did she scurry through the brush? How? She was there, though... Surely. Even if there aren't tracks to prove it. All that lingers around the space, beyond that trail of drying blood, are the remains of a small deer. While mountain lions are rumoured to be in the area, bears most definitely exist round these parts: this late into a spring that simply won't warm up, it could be that they're trying to get whatever food they can manage. The deer most certainly has been taken as some meal. Bugs buzz. Above, crows circle and swoop. To a dog like Goblin, it may smell delicious - but Troll probably has other feelings about that. It won't be long until other scavengers come this way. "Easy," Jack says, holding the horse steadily calm - he's not phased by seeing viscera and animal remains at all, having seen plenty in his life. But Troll doesn't like the smell, and knows predators when he sees one. Like Uschi? Jack leans forward on his horse, and looks around slowly. "Just a Saturday in Tamarack," he mutters - this is added to the list of the other hundred weird things he's heard about, seen or experienced. Each one leaving him more curious, or with more questions. Goblin does eye that carcass hungrily, but he leaves it alone - he turns to follow Jack when he and Troll start moving, leaving the scene. Several times, Jack looks behind them, paranoid.