Apr. 16th, 2019

alittlehinky: (alert)
Spring has just begun its work in the foothills of the Appalachian mountains. The trees are dotted with bright little green leaves, paler and more golden than they will be in a few weeks, but unfurling bravely in still-chilly air to soak up the sun. The last real frost was only ten days ago, and the mornings are still so cold a person can easily see his breath. Honestly, this is Cricket's favorite time of year, even if his legs ache when he first gets up. It makes starting the fires under the stills a real pleasure, and tending them in the little hollow where the Bondurants have set up is warm and peaceful.

He's got his lunch in a tin bucket with him as he makes his way down the path into the hollow, leg braces clinking softly with every step. Here the forest is dense with brush, and the first wildflowers are starting to bloom; mostly wood sorrel, dandelions and violets. There's a natural rock cleft where the stills are placed, and the Bondurants have built a roof overtop of that, and covered it with moss and sod to create a little shack for their illicit activity. Vines hang down over the entrance to obscure that some, too. The chances of revenue agents finding it are pretty slim. They don't have the time to comb every square inch of mountain in search of these things.

But a person lost in these woods and looking for shelter overnight could certainly stumble across the shack, and it's a much better alternative to sleeping on the forest floor.

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