Search for the Sunlight

Brian stood up on all fours and stretched himself to the limits of physical endurance.

“I could hammer a good strong brew,” he groaned, flexing his stiff limbs whilst nibbling at the knots in his matted fur. “Now you’re getting the hang of it!” Harry replied, winking at the cat. In his opinion, there was always time for a good strong brew.

Without delay, he prepared the twig burner and, in less than ten minutes, with his usual skill and commitment, another memorable mug of liquid nourishment was ready for consumption.

While the group sat quietly sipping their tea and contemplating the gravity of the task ahead, Sherlock’s attention was drawn towards a low, subsonic rumble somewhere in the distance. The sky was becoming increasingly dark and, through intermittent breaks in the fog, bright flashes of what appeared to be lightening flickered across the horizon.

“Can you hear something?” the officer whispered. He was straining his ears, listening for the slightest indication as to what the nature of the sound might be.

Brian, whose hearing was far superior to that of a Treewood, stood up, and rotating his head slowly from side to side, he tried to tune in on the distant rumble.

“I can hear something too,” he eventually replied. “It sounds like thunder, but then it can’t be,” he added, correcting himself as he spoke. “The noise that I’m picking up is continuous and thunder isn’t like that.”

“Perhaps we’re about to fall off the edge of the world,” Harry suggested and, fooling about in his usual way, he clasped his hands around his mouth and began to make pretend ghost noises in a mischievous attempt to put the wind up his friends.

“Don’t be daft!” Sherlock replied, reaching over and flicking Harry’s ear. “There’s no such thing as the edge of the world. Apart from a handful of soap dodgers and crystal gazing alternative people, everyone knows perfectly well that the earth is round. It’s impossible to fall off, so stop your nonsense and do something useful!”

Harry rubbed his ear. He couldn’t immediately think of anything useful to do, but feeling suitably told off by the Constable, he put the kettle on again.

“There, that’s something useful,” he muttered to himself as he lay down huffily on top of his lapsack and waited for the water to boil.

Total darkness came early that evening. It was of some concern to the group but, after an ample serving of ‘Red Road Special Reserve,’ a sturdy tea by all accounts, they soon forgot their troubles and drifted off into the night.