called_lioness | (no subject)

"You hit them," Lucy says gently. "You need to drag the edge of the flint along the steel. I'll show you again if you like."

"No - I can do it," Mary says, tossing back her head, and attempts again, sliding the flint and steel together.

This time a tiny spark appears, and Mary bursts into a beaming smile. "There - see?"

Lucy's laugh is pleased. "I knew you could! And you did quite well. Would you let me help you start the fire itself? It's a wee bit trickier to direct the sparks."

"It will not hurt if the sparks go somewhere else," Mary protests. "And I want to do it myself."

Next time Lucy might not be there! One never knows.

Lucy considers her for a moment.

Because one never knows.

And then she says, "All right, Mary."

It takes about ten tries, with Mary growing visibly frustrated, before a spark lands on the fire; it takes another five before one catches enough to actually light.

But one does, eventually.

Lucy grins and settles behind Mary, arms wrapping her in a brief hug before letting go. (She can't quite help it.) "You did very, very well."

Mary stiffens a little at the hug out of surprise, but not nearly as much as she might have a year ago, her face bright at the praise.

"I shall be able to do it faster next time," she informs Lucy. "Now that I know how."

"Yes. You shall. You may light one tomorrow too, if you like."

Lucy is busy shifting logs into place, slowly, to let the fire build.

"Would you like to find sticks for roasting things?"

"I did not know we were meant to find sticks for roasting too. I should have found them before otherwise," Mary informs her, but heads off to the outer edge of the clearing to pick up more sticks.

"Your arms were already full," she points out cheerfully and reaches for one of the packs.

"I was not carrying so much."

Mary comes back with four sticks, and hands two over to Lucy, with Great Dignity.

"I am very sorry, Mary," she says with a grin, "that I didn't think to ask earlier. Will you forgive me?"

Lucy may be teasing.

A little.

"It is not a thing to be forgiven for." Mary is very dignified. "It is only that it should have been more efficient, that is all."

"Sometimes I am not efficient. It is one's prerogative," she says airily.

"Well, as this is your trip," Mary concedes, graciously, "you may be inefficient this time."

"Ta, dear. I appreciate that. Perhaps you'll take someone on a trip, someday, and then you'll be inefficient in turn."

"Oh, no," Mary says, loftily. "If I ever take someone on a trip it shall be awfully efficient. Except I do not have a way to get about many places - so I think it shall be other people taking me on trips for a good long while."

"I'm sorry," she grins, "I shan't go on a trip of yours, then. I should like to see how efficient you could be."

She's sliced an apple and put it on her stick. "We'll hold it over the flame and dip it in the cinnamon and sugar, if we've some, afterward."

Mary eyes her, but follows suit, taking an apple slice and copying Lucy's method of stick-piercing as best she can.

"Do we have some?"

"I suspect so, yes."

She asked for it specifically.

"Well, then."

Mary watches the apple turn brown over the fire, rather dubiously. "Is it meant to do that?"

"Yes. Though you might like to hold the sick a bit higher."

Mary promptly lifts the stick.

"When is it done?"

Lucy is dignified, and thus does not need to choke down a laugh.

Really.

"Now's good, I suppose."

And look! There is a box with a mix of cinnamon and brown sugar in it!

"We can roll it in this."