Thus far, water had ever been near and the geldings had lacked not. But owing perhaps to the same upheaval that had so sunk this mysterious, tree-shrouded valley, not a trace of water off the surrounding peaks fed it.
“It’s not far back to the last trickle we passed: I could hear it off to the north as we back-trailed Vivo a little,” Bardic mused.
“We could just plunge in: how hard can it be to find water in a valley, by Zath!” Morath exclaimed.
“Forests can be tricky: sometimes streams can only be found in steep ravines, or masked by roots so that you never find them,” Celo commented.
A pause ensued while the rest of the party tried to adjust to what sounded a lot like a wood-wise comment from Celo.
“As for us, let’s see:” – here Edric patrolled around the horses, counting wineskins – “six days travelled, seven gallons gone. Oh – we donated a gallon to the Westfarers hostel. And half our seventh day’s ration gone. But we stayed most of a day at Crow Castle, so we have actually drunk more than I would have expected. Especially as I don’t start my day” – here he broke off to look about at the others – “with a pint of wine.”
“It’s thirsty work, this cooking.”
“Good for the teeth: everyone knows that.”
“A pint gargled before breakfast aids the digestion.”
“It’s for my horse, not me.”