#I had another massive one the size and shape of a soup bowl

[disappointingcabbage]

This is why I collect unique/funky mugs. I know which ones are missing from the cabinet. Also they look cool.

living with ADHD is being stuck in a Matrix of your own making, and forgetting you made it

[jinmukangwrites]

@damianwayneweek 6 (6-18): Baby Damian | Family bonding | First crush

Warnings: none

Notes: Short, sweet, barely edited cuz it's 1am. Please enjoy some de-aged Damian and frazzled Dick. Yes I'm back on my Damian and Dick bullshit. I just love them so much.

-o-o-o-o-

Three days, according to Zatanna. The magic that hit Damian isn't permanent, and should wear off on its own within three days.

Dick already doesn't know what to do with himself. He was hardly prepared to take over and raise a ten year old, let alone a toddler.

But here he is, sitting in the manor living room watching as a small version of his already little brother toddles around on chubby baby legs. He can't be more than two. He can walk around on his own well enough—though Alfred did block off all of the stairs in the manor anyways—and every so often he'll point at something and say... Something that sounds like a demand.

Dick wasn't really ever good with understanding baby gibberish. It doesn't help that Damian seems to have reverted in memories as well... so the things he's demanding probably aren't in English as it's not his first language.

Damian wobbles up to Dick, holding out a toy train that Alfred dug out from the attic that used to belong to Bruce. Dick takes it and thanks him, but Damian pays him no mind and returns to his toys, babbling about something only he understands.

It's so weird seeing him like this. All small, chubby, soft, and bright eyed. Dick doesn't know everything Damian has gone through... growing up in the League... and as much as Dick dislikes Talia, he knows she was the best mom she could be to him. She's raised him to be a smart, strong young man, and taught him to be able to protect himself in his dangerous surroundings... and of course Dick has known Damian long enough to have gotten through his walls and see the wonderful boy underneath, but as he watches this toddler squeal as another toy train turns on and runs on its own...

He cannot help but mourn the child Damian could have been. Should have been if every child in the world had the privilege of growing up in a safe home and no worries besides homework.

He shakes his head. He cannot think like that. Whatever child Damian could have grown into if he hadn't been raised by the League is still in there. Just a bit harder to bring out. Dick can feel himself getting closer every day.

Damian notices him shaking his head and makes a curious ah sound. He walks over to Dick, lifting his arms, and Dick assumes he wants to be lifted. He smiles at the kid and grabs him under the armpits and lifts him into the air perhaps a bit quicker than what he was expecting. The kid screeches as Dick lifts him over head and let's go for just a moment to catch him and bring him back down to his face.

Damian scowls a familiar scowl and hits Dick on the nose with his stubby little fingers.

"Bah," he scolds, and a laugh bursts from Dick's throat.

Yup, Damian is still in there.

-o-o-o-o-

"I'm beginning to understand why B adopted all of us when we were already in elementary," Dick complains as baby Damian screams in his wooden high chair—yet another thing dug up from the attic that probably belonged to Bruce.

Alfred hands Dick a rag with a smirk. The thrown bowl of mac-and-cheese is all over Dick's shirt.

"Master Bruce always had a tenderness for infants," Alfred replies as he uses another rag to wipe off the still screaming and complaining Damian. "He always found joy in finding whatever excuse he could to hold and play with a baby. We used to go to a church when he was still a child himself, and there was a woman there without a husband who would always bring her infant. He would always offer to hold the child for her during the sessions to give her a break."

There's a twinkle in his eye when he looks over at Dick. "I imagine that if this had happened to you, or your other siblings, when he was still around, he would have loved every second of it. Food throwing, tantrums, and all."

Dick can't help but smile. He looks over at Damian who's now kicking his legs and waving his now clean hands in a fit. "Still, I wonder what's making him so mad."

"He might not like the taste," Alfred says, "or the texture. Perhaps some experimentation is due."

After some expiration and a lot of screaming through baby lungs that couldn't possibly hold that much air, they find that Damian really likes tomato soup, apple sauce, and broccoli.

-o-o-o-o-

"Master Dick," Alfred speaks up on the first evening while they were showing Damian Pooh's Heffalump Movie. Dick was relaxing and watching the movie, trying to remember if he's seen this one or not, while Damian was on the floor playing with an old kitten stuffed animal.

"Yeah?" Dick asks. He looks over at Alfred, only to see Alfred raise an eyebrow down at Damian. Dick follows his look, then his stomach drops when he finds that under the recently shopped for infant clothes, is a full looking diaper.

Dick looks back up at Alfred.

"Please, god, no."

Alfred drops a diaper, a bag of wipes, and a cloth into Dick's hands. "Good luck, sir."

-o-o-o-o-

Dick's about to lose his mind. He did everything Alfred told him to. He read a bedtime story—Where the Wild Things Are, as it was Dick's personal favorite as a child. He made sure his diaper was clean. He turned on some white noise. He even gave him Zitka. Yet, everything he did, Damian would scream and sob in his borrowed crib until Dick picked him up and started to sing the lullabies sung to him as a child. He sings the ones from his own native language, and even though there's no way Damian understands Romani, the kid calms down and reduces to exhausted little hiccups and almost seems to fall asleep with his little fingers curled in Dick's shirt.

And the second Dick puts him down, the crying rekindles.

Dick doesn't know what to do. Damian cries and cries until he's held and sung to, but Dick can't hold and sing to him all night. He paces Damian's room, bouncing the aforementioned kid-turned-infant in his arms, mumbling tunes to whatever lullaby decides to leave his lips.

Alfred told him he has permission to wake him up if he needed anything with Damian through the night, but Dick can't bring himself to. Alfred already works so hard during the day and night, keeping the manor in shape and making sure Dick doesn't get himself killed during patrol... He shouldn't have to be relied on to take care of a grumpy baby that won't go to sleep.

No, no Dick can handle this. Damian is calm when he's held and sung to, so that's what Dick will do. He walks to the cradle and pulls out Zitka, then goes to his own bedroom to sit on his bed and holds Damian close to his chest, singing and bouncing him gently.

Eventually, Damian goes completely still against his chest, snoring slightly, but Dick's too fearful to risk anything now. He stops singing though, resorting to simply holding Damian and trying to keep his own eyes open.

He fails, but he wakes up in the morning with Damian laying on his chest, still fast asleep and drooling all over his shirt.

Dick doesn't look a gift-horse in the mouth. He shifts into a better position, then allows them both to sleep in a little longer.

-o-o-o-o-

Alfred discovers the problem quickly when Dick tells him how hard it was to get Damian to sleep. Turns out, Damian's teething. By noon, Alfred had returned from the closest grocery store with a few tools to help with that. He puts a few water filled plastics into the fridge, then gives Damian one to chew on in the meantime. And chew on it, Damian does. He gets slobber everywhere, but at least he's no longer so upset, especially once a cold one is exchanged into his grubby little hands.

-o-o-o-o-

"That's absolutely adorable," Barbara says over the phone. Dick's just finished sending her a massive amount of pictures he's taken of Damian after taking him outside to play in the backyard with the dogs. He's sent her the pictures mostly because he needs people to see how cute Damian is while trying to tackle a dog twice the size of him... but also partly because he gets the feeling once Damian's back to his normal age, he will make sure all evidence of this is destroyed.

Barbara is someone Dick's sure can keep pictures hidden in a safe place... just in case Dick wants to see them again after lying to Damian he deleted them.

-o-o-o-o-

Dick's beginning to understand why people like babies. Like, they're cute, yes. The sounds they make are cute sometimes too. The things they find funny are usually very goofy and enjoyable to watch. Their laughs are contagious, and their babbles are enjoyable to try and decipher...

But nothing beats watching them sleep, curled up against your chest. Full trust in you that you'll keep them safe. It's nap time, and instead of trying to peel Damian off from him and put him in the crib, he's decided to just let the kid pass out in his arms and use the opportunity to take a nap himself.

Apparently it's bad to always let babies sleep with you, but Damian's not going to be this small forever. Might as well enjoy holding him like this in pure peace while he can.

-o-o-o-o-

It seems Zatanna was generous with her prediction, as he wakes up with his breath being knocked out of him. Damian, his rightful age and dressed in his full Robin uniform, scrambles off of Dick's chest. It's all knees and elbows, and Dick's left rubbing his ribs as Damian pats his body, as if making sure he's really a 10 year old boy and not an infant.

"Good to have you back," Dick grunts, rubbing his eyes and holding back a grin.

Damian whirls on him and points an accusing finger. "I don't remember what all happened," he hisses, "but you will delete any photos immediately."

Dick bursts into laughter, grabbing Damians pointed hand and tugging him into a proper hug. Damian squawks just a little, but relents when Dick squeezes him tighter than what he would to an infant. Yes. This feels right. Baby Damian was cute and cuddly, but he really missed the prickly attitude of this rascal.

"Okay," he says, releasing his charge. "I'll delete the photos, after we tell Alfred you're back and you've changed out of the suit."

Damian huffs and nods. "That was horrible."

"I don't know, I thought it was fun," Dick teases. Damian glares at him and Dick grins back.

Yeah, he missed his kid.

[builder051]

(Un)happy trails

When Nat unpacks her bags into the dresser in the Bartons' guest room, there's a certain sense of finality. She knows her stay is temporary, they all do, but there's something about that the action that seems to indicate the opposite.

Nat's clothes barely populate the empty space in the drawers. She brings her real clothes and not the stuff she's garnered from the SHIELD closet-- a small collection of threadbare leggings, baggy t shirts, and a couple of sets of jeans in such sad shape that Laura immediately takes them up as her next project with the sewing machine.

"They're fine," Nat says as she reaches randomly into a drawer and tries to pull a pair on, grateful that she's chosen blue boy short underwear so the tear near the v of her legs isn't that risque looking.

"Nat..." Laura slowly shakes her head, her eyes now fixed on Nat's pale face instead of her obviously more interesting crotch.

But Nat knows what she's detecting, and she isn't sure she likes it. She shot up again this morning, even though she swore she was out of stock last night. She crossed her heart when she said she didn't have a stash anymore, that she didn't have any needles, and that no, no one needed to search her bags to check. Nat's in that weird space where she isn't sure if her tiny dose has her still coming up or going down, or maybe balancing somewhere in the middle with a high that isn't really that good anyway.

"I'm fine," Nat says, in a voice that probably couldn't fool anybody. She swallows hard, and her throat is raw. She vaguely recalls puking last night, and she wonders if she's going to do it again. Getting clean is rough, which is why she's not doing it this time, at least not cold turkey.

"You're not," Laura says definitively. She reaches for Nat's arm, palm turned upward and fingers spread wide. "Come on. Let's get some food in you."

"I still feel..." Nat shakes her head.

"We've god kids' size dishes." Laura grins. "Monster trucks or princesses. Your choice."

"I don't know..."

"We've got a bathroom, too. And a mop. A swiffer wet jet, even."

"Nat can't help but smile a little, even though the chatter hurts her head. She feels a little groggy, and she knows it's from the drugs. She knows it's her fault.

"Coffee?" she asks hopefully.

"Maybe once we can get water and chicken broth in you. But if you're feeling up to rosemary and scallions, I'd be glad to go in that direction."

The thought of the spices puts wet bubbles on Nat's tongue, and as she swallows, her stomach turns. "No, thanks," she whispers.

"Plain it is, then," Laura agrees. She leads the way to the kitchen and points Nat to the table, then rummages a moment in the pantry. A moment later, she emerges with a box of prepared organic chicken stock. "Just don't tell anyone it's not homemade." Laura grins.

So does Nat, but her teeth hurt. So do her shoulder blades as she leans back against the hard wooden chair, and her sit bones on the unpadded seat. She tries to keep a squirm out of her spine so Laura won't notice her discomfort.

The microwave beeps, and Laura sets a small bowl of the soup in front of Nat. The broth is too cloudy for her to see the picture at the bottom, but the edges of the dish are pink, so she assumes Laura's chosen princesses. Nat picks up the bowl by the edges and lifts it to her mouth, ready to drink her fill.

"Spoon," Laura corrects, bringing the utensil to the table. "Eat slowly and that'll have half a prayer of staying down."

Nat shrugs. She doesn't care that much. Actually, she might prefer it come back, if only to get the churning acid out of her stomach. She ignores the spoon, but Laura gives her a blistering look, and Nat feels forced to pick it up.

"I had you in the bathroom half the night," Laura informs her, taking the seat opposite Nat. "Don't know if you know it, but you bite."

Nat swallows her mouthful of broth, then asks, "Why'd you have your fingers in my mouth?"

Laura presses her lips into a thin line. "I think you know. And it's not the first time."

Yeah... Reflections of past post-mission visits play over in her mind, fuzzy like old, out-of-focus photographs. Nat returns to shoveling down the broth. "I'll do it this time," she mutters.

"You'll keep that good food down."

The guilt is already making Nat's stomach churn, though. She doubts she'll need a finger down her throat to make it come up. The sight of the toilet and a few movements of her tongue should do the trick.

"I'm sorry." Nat pushes her bowl away from her and scoots her chair back from the table. She wraps her arms around her midsection and walks quickly toward the hall bathroom. Once there, she shuts the door. She toys with the lock for a moment, but decides against turning it all the way. A good jiggle of the knob should force it back open.

"Nat?" Laura's already on her tail before Nat's even on her knees.

Nat drops her head deep into the porcelain bowl, her hair falling on either side of her face and nearly touching the water below. A gag is quick to roll off her tongue, and half the broth she's consumed comes splashing up, tiny flecks hitting back in her face.

Nat sputters, and she hears the door creak open. "Oh--"

Whether Laura curses or not is lost in the sound of another massive heave shaking Nat's entire body. She's lost control of it now; her stomach and shoulders contracting of their own accord and shoving her practically into the toilet as her body struggles to empty itself.

"Here." There's a damp washcloth on the back of Nat's neck, and goosebumps erupt all down the backs of her arms.

"Fuck, that's cold..." she chokes, the words echoing off the porcelain.

"Well, you're warm." Laura reaches in for Nat's forehead, bracing her upward a few inches and pushing sweaty hair off her skin. There's a sigh in Laura's voice, one of resignation. Not disappointment exactly, but of sad recognition of the facts. All of them.

Nat has a sudden urge to tell the truth. "I'm...not clean," she admits, sour saliva pooling on the back of her tongue.

"I know."

"D'you want me to be?"

"That's... up to you."

"Really?" Nat had been expecting a hard-core 'yes.'

"I mean, I'd rather you not shoot up around the kids..." Laura lifts Nat's head up another few inches.

"Yeah, I definitely get it." Nat feels guilty again, even though the last time she used it had been alone and in the dark.

A tick of silence passes, then Laura asks, "Are you done?"

Nat's confused for a second. Hadn't Laura already said it was her choice? Should she not have some time to make up her mind? Then she remembers the bitter bile in her mouth, and she spits, then slowly nods. "Oh. Yeah."

Laura delicately pulls Nat back from the toilet and pulls a length of toilet paper to wipe at her mouth. Then she opens her arms, inviting Nat to fall into her embrace.

Nat does, without hesitation. She knows she's loved. She knows what the right choices are. She has no idea how she's supposed to get there, but at least she has this.

[hoodwinkd1]

the stars that shine - Ch 1

Fic Summary: “Eva, darling, Dorian has a few questions for you,” Lysandra interrupted. She tilted her head as she looked Hollin over, an eerily animalistic quality in her gaze. “Will you be attending the same classes?”

He turned his head to Dorian. “Will I be what?”

His brother took a sip of wine. “I’m sure I told you about this. Evangeline will be staying with us for the next few months to expand her education.” Placing the glass down, he looked at the girl in question with clear affection in his eyes. ------ Coming of age in a post-war world could never be easy. Growing up under the watchful eye of Erilea's most powerful and famous heroes is just a little bit harder. Figuring out what the hell they're supposed to do in this big, wide world might require a little more teamwork than either of them realize.

Ch 2 here.

Chapter 1: just two kids

The first time they met, neither of them knew what the hell was going on. The adults spoke in whispers and shed tears that they couldn’t understand, being only eleven years old. Evangeline grew tired of hiding behind Lysandra and clinging to Aedion; she wanted to explore this massive palace that served as her temporary home. Aelin had insisted that they all remain together for a few weeks after her coronation, giving them all some time to figure out how to be a court and a family.

For once, Evangeline’s short stature helped her as she ducked behind people and columns until she found the exit. She picked a direction at random, happy to wander around the hallways and take in the décor, even if some of it looked worse for wear. She hummed to herself as she walked, so focused on absorbing every piece of Terrasen that she could glean from the paintings that hung proudly (if not a bit slanted).

Terrasen. Her new kingdom. Evangeline had never felt any sort of connection to Adarlan. No one had ever held her hand at a celebratory parade or taught her the national song, if there even was such a thing. Her childhood contained no memories of pride or patriotism, nothing beyond a lingering resentment for what her parents did to survive.

“Evangeline! What are you doing away from the party?” She nearly jumped out of her skin at that cheery voice, her eyes darting up to meet the King’s kind smile. Dorian might have deserved her patriotism, if Lysandra and her had remained in Rifthold.

“I was exploring.” She shifted her weight a couple times. Although his face was kind, she really didn’t know him that well. And grown men, especially those with power, cause her to clam up. She remembered her manners just in time to add: “I hope I’m not disturbing you, Your Majesty.”

He waved a hand. “Please, just Dorian. We’ve all been through too much for fancy titles, don’t you think? We were just about to say our goodbyes and head out.”

At his statement, Evangeline finally noticed the boy sulking behind Dorian. Hollin didn’t acknowledge her at all, never even looked at her despite their similar age and forced proximity. She shoved down her irritation, choosing to be the mature and polite one.

“Are you excited to go home?” she asked sweetly, staring directly at the prince. He continued to study the wall next to him, ignoring her yet again, until Dorian shoved his shoulder lightly.

Hollin sighed in a way that made Evangeline’s blood boil. “I cannot wait to sleep in a chamber that doesn’t look like it might collapse on me in my sleep,” he answered, scrunching his nose in disgust.

Her eyes widened. She could have died, not a full two weeks ago, during the final battle against the Valg and Hollin was complaining about the state of his bedroom? Hundreds of replies ran through her mind, most of them including telling him where he could shove that selfish opinion--

“What my brother means to say, is that he wishes Terrasen a speedy recovery after so many trials,” Dorian interjected, placing his hand on Hollin’s shoulder. His grip tightened as he steered his younger brother around Evangeline, mouthing a quick “sorry” as they passed. “I hope you know that you’re welcome in Adarlan at any time. Until next time!”

“Thank you,” Evangeline replied uncertainly, spinning on her heel to watch them walk away. She still couldn’t truly say how she felt about Dorian, but she had never been more grateful for the crown on his head. At the very least, it kept that nasty little boy from having any sort of power he would surely abuse.

She kept walking. Sparing a glance over her shoulder to make sure they no longer lingered, Evangeline pushed into the chambers the royals had just vacated. She wasn’t snooping, just curious if their bed was bigger than hers.

The room was in perfectly fine condition, maybe lacking some of the over-the-top amenities that the former conquering nation of Adarlan could afford. She peeked into the first bedroom and let out a small gasp. So Aelin had given them nicer accommodations. The bed was massive, even bigger than Aedion’s bed (which Lysandra snuck into every night when she thought Evangeline was asleep). Logically, the larger man deserved the larger bed, right?

She looked into the next bedroom. This one was much more comparable to her room, only containing a queen-size mattress and a dresser. Evangeline ran her fingers along the silk sheets, wondering if it would be selfish to ask for these chambers for herself. She might enjoy having the space to herself, and Lysandra might not feel so guilty about spending time with her beloved.

A ray of the setting sun cut through the curtains, reflecting sharply off something in the corner of her eye. There, mostly hidden beneath the dresser, was a small piece of metal. Evangeline dropped to her knees and reached for it, fingers closing around the wiry texture.

It was a ship. Fashioned out of a long piece of aluminum that may have once been a large kitchen utensil. She examined the trinket, trying to imagine how one might have bent the shape hundreds of times to form a tiny replica of the boats that floated in the docks of Ilium.

Evangeline happened to love trinkets and tiny things, so she shoved it in her pocket, considering today’s exploration a wonderful success.

---

Hollin stared at the feast in front of him, wanting nothing more than to snatch up a plate full of food and run to his rooms to devour it in peace. Unfortunately, if he vacated his hiding spot behind one of the larger ice chests, the kitchen staff would surely see him and report his location to Queen Mother Georgina. And then she would surely force him back into the dining room to rejoin the most boring conversation he had ever had to sit through.

As part of his education, Hollin’s tutor taught him the importance of treating guests with civility and respect through proper socialization. While the prince normally managed to suffer through an entire dinner without running away, Hollin simply couldn’t pretend any longer. Not after he stayed up almost until dawn the night before, completely caught up in a new research project.

And although the prince had managed great strides in the two years since the war, shedding some of his more immature and selfish tendencies, he had never learned how to love a crowd the way his brother could. Dorian positively thrived in front of an audience, telling witty stories and navigating even the trickiest of topics with an easy smile.

He watched the head chef finish plating the soups, adding a fried green leek to each bowl. Hollin’s stomach growled, hidden by the noise of crashing plates and rolling carts.

“Hollin!” A sharp voice cut through the clatter. “If you’re in here, come out at once before you embarrass us any further.”

“Fuck,” he muttered. His mother had caught on to his hiding spot far too quickly. Rather than facing the indignation of getting literally dragged out of the corner by the indignant queen, he stood and brushed the lint of his pants.

Walking towards where Georgina stood, her arms crossed, Hollin searched his mind for any excuse that might explain his absence. “I wasn’t feeling well?”

“I planned on serving dinner as soon as the last guest arrived, but now everyone had to wait. Does that make you happy?” she demanded, reaching over to shove some of his hair back. “Remind me to send Donya your way tomorrow. This is getting out of hand.”

Hollin preferred his hair long, brushing his forehead and the back of his neck, but there was no arguing with her. “The dinner?” he prompted, warding off any further complaints about his appearance.

“Go, now. I need to run a final check on everything.” She made a shooing gesture with her hands. Hollin ran out the door at that point, marveling at how much better the dinner party sounded after one simple interaction with his mother.

Pushing through the swinging doors, he was relieved to find most people standing around, finishing up their chatter and their drinks. Darting past a couple of particularly dull nobles and keeping his head down to avoid detection, Hollin scanned the table for his name card.

“Your Highness!” He winced at the nasally voice of Lord Ramdon and the impending doom of yet another economic lecture. “I was just telling your brother about the effects of his new trade agreement on the price of coal over the next five--”

“Please take your seats. Dinner will be served momentarily.” The voice rang out through the room, giving Hollin the opportunity to escape and finally sink into his seat, two chairs away from the head of the table.

Dorian slipped into the massive chair a moment later. “Mother tracked you down?” he asked, offering Hollin a sympathetic look.

“Obviously.” Hollin grabbed his napkin and threw it on his lap, a bit forcefully. “Enjoying the stimulating conversation tonight?”

Dorian laughed. “It was getting a bit dull for awhile there. Thankfully, some more exciting guests showed up at the last minute-oh, speak of the devil!” He stood up, waving to someone over Hollin’s shoulder.

The prince stifled a groan. He glanced at the nametag to his right, at the same time as the person in question filled the seat.

“Hello,” Evangeline smiled at him. “I didn’t notice you when we first arrived.”

Aedion Ashryver and Lysandra Ennar took their places across the table, also smiling warmly at him. Hollin never understood how these people managed to be so happy all of the damned time. Something like jealousy always churned in his stomach when he saw the familiarity and love shared between them, as if a devastating war hadn’t almost ripped them apart.

“I had a...prince thing to do.” He winced at how weak the words sounded. “I hope the journey was easy for you.”

“It was! We travelled quite light for this visit, since it’s much more informal and last-minute” Evangeline perked up as she spoke, starting on a tangent about the route they had taken. In all his fourteen years, Hollin had never met a group of people who talked quite as much as Queen Aelin’s court.

At least he grew out of his snark and pettiness since he left Terrasen for the last time. He forced a polite smile on his face as she rambled.

“Eva, darling, Dorian has a few questions for you,” Lysandra interrupted. She tilted her head as she looked Hollin over, an eerily animalistic quality in her gaze. “Will you be attending the same classes?”

He turned his head to Dorian. “Will I be what?”

His brother took a sip of wine. “I’m sure I told you about this. Evangeline will be staying with us for the next few months to expand her education.” Placing the glass down, he looked at the girl in question with clear affection in his eyes. “I wanted to know, are there any additional activities you’d like to pursue while in Rifthold? Perhaps something in the arts?”

“Oh goodness, I’d love that,” Evangeline gushed. “I know that the theater here is beyond what we have in Terrasen; I’m sure there’s so much to learn from the actors and writers there.”

Hollin’s head hurt. He knew that Dorian would try to force them to get along while she stayed with them, in some bizarre attempt to expose him to so-called good people.

Even after the king had dedicated his time to being an older brother, even though Hollin tried so hard to avoid being another problem Dorian had to handle, he would never garner the look of affection that Evangeline did. He would never be Dorian’s friend in a way the Terrasen court was.

“Hollin attended one of the performances last week.” Dorian leaned forward, catching his brother’s eye with a meaningful look. “Perhaps you could take a look at the upcoming schedule, recommend something for her.”

The meddling had begun a whooping five minutes into the first course.

“I would be happy to,” Hollin replied. “Do you have any particular interests?”

For better or for worse, that question set Evangaline off on another tangent. Dorian gave him a subtle thumbs up as she chattered away, returning his focus to Lysandra and Aedion.

Hollin took the reprieve gratefully, digging into his soup. He mentally calculated how many minutes stood between him and the final course, already considering the night a massive failure.

[essays-for-breakfast]

A Song to Forget All Trouble

Kiane Week Day Four: Reign/Daily Life

With each sunrise, another problem awaited Diane. Or, for the sake of accuracy, a mountain of problems. Ruling an entire clan was one thing, but the management of two clans who had spent to majority of three millennia with scornful looks and cold shoulders had more in common with a wrestling match against a Tyrant Dragon. With arms tied behind the back. Giants and Fairies alike always found one little annoyance to blow out of proportion and add to the list of matters Diane needed to discuss and solve with the parties involved.

The quarrel for a resting spot on one of the Fairy King’s Forest’s countless clearings took her half a day to settle because both the Giant and the opposing group of Fairies claimed to have arrived there first. Around noon, Diane ordered the squabblers to find other places to sleep and opened the clearing to a horde of Giant children. At the end of their play session, a rugged crater disfigured the landscape, and smashed golem heads roasted in the sun. No one wanted to rest there anymore.

Every trampled flowerbed and every earth-made pillar became a file on Diane’s metaphorical desk. Fairies liked to boast about their inability to understand concepts like possession and greed, but when someone asked them to share their precious forest with outsiders, they crossed their arms and jutted their chins faster than one could turn over a leaf.

Even if their king asked them.

But the Giants didn’t cover themselves in glory with their behavior either. Their daily fighting tournaments, these days held for sport rather than war training, flattened entire areas on a regular basis. And while the Giants toasted to their displays of power, the present Fairies had little to laugh about. To them, a tree was a lifeform in the same way as a deer or a chaffinch. To a Giant, a tree was a resource for weapons and sometimes a javelin in their ego games.

Drole had assured that Diane would make for the ideal queen to their people. If only he had mentioned the massif of hurdles on the road of leadership.

Daylight was fading, and Diane more stumbled than walked towards the Great Tree. She hawked, but the lump in her throat sat on her voice like a fat, ugly toad. The avalanche of irritated ‘what?’ the near-deaf Giant had spat in her direction continued to ring in her ears. He had built a stone damn to turn the southern river into his private bathing lake. The shrubs and flowers he had put underwater by proxy had concerned him no more than a change in the clouds above. Diane had repeated and rerepeated herself in explaining the problem he had created, but more than another ‘what?’ hadn’t come out of him. A wonder the old man still lived – with the philosophy of the Giants in mind, a useless member of the pack went to bed each night in expectation of a slit throat.

Diane rolled her shoulders to shake away these gloomy thoughts. The merger had its upsides too. She just needed to remind herself of them once in a while.

The stench of fire, mingled with the alluring but precarious aromas of roasted boar hit her before the massive shape of the Great Tree came into view. Not again. Diane darted into the bushes, a string of curses she had picked up from Ban on her lips.

In most cases, even the most traditionalist of Fairies looked past the campfires the Giants gathered around to exchange war stories. But when these parties involved hunted wildlife – deer, boars, or the sinfully delicious cranes found in the western lake district of the forest –, a war declaration already waved between the trees by the time King or Diane could intervene.

Along with the cackling of the fire, the sound of laughter and, strangest of all, music reached Diane’s ear as she zigzagged through the pine trunks. The out of place sound almost made her stumble. Had the wind solely carried the beat of drums, she would have continued her race without a second thought. But a small orchestra of pipes and flutes gave the rhythmic pounding a melody unlike anything she had ever heard in Megadoza. If any Giant knew how to craft and play a flute, Matrona had to have hid them in the catacombs underneath the rock city during Diane’s two hundred years of training there.

A final sprint brought Diane to the clearing from where the smell of meat and the sound of music originated. But instead of a pack of drunk and bellowing Giants, the last sunrays reflected from the faces of Fairies and Giants alike. And instead of accusations hurled at the other clan, laughter tied both sides together.

Above the open fire, spits laden with meat turned while a soup happily bubbled in an oversized iron cauldron. A handful of lanterns in the shape of tulips adorned the trees around. While not as golden or luxurious as the festivities Diane had visited in Liones, the clearing showed all the makings of a celebration, complete with a colorful assembly of guests.

King hovered in the middle of the illusive scenery and conversed with Matrona and Ritho, an older Giant whose passion lay with war before any other activity. All three of them were smiling.

Diane maltreated her temple with her knuckles, but the illusion refused to collapse and return to the dust of her imagination. What had happened in her absence that all conflicts between Giants and Fairies had smoothened into a pretty party with a pretty ribbon to complete the present? Had Bartra Liones foreseen the end of the world for tomorrow? Another explanation failed to arise out of the muddle of her thoughts.

She stared, and she stood, unable to move or comprehend what was playing out before her eyes.

King noticed Diane, nodded to Matrona and Ritho, and floated towards her with two minimalistic flaps of his wings.

He lifted the paralyzed fingers of her right hand with visible effort, and beamed at her. “I’m glad you made it. Gerheade was almost on her way to catch you at the Great Tree. I wasn’t sure when you would return, but I guess everything worked out better than expected.”

“I don’t understand. Did I miss something?”

A shade of pink darkened his cheeks. The orange hues of the fire emphasized the effect. “Didn’t I tell you? We want to celebrate the merger between the Fairy and Giant Clan. We got lucky with the weather tonight, otherwise the open fire might have given us some headaches. Oh, and Happy Anniversary!”

Diane blinked. “It’s… been a year already?! I thought… two weeks, a month at most…”

“If Gerheade hadn’t reminded me, I would have said the same, but here we are. A year later. I’m so proud of what we’ve built here. What you started when you told me about your idea with the merger – no one other than you could have even considered to bridge the cleft between our two clans. All because no one sees the good in others like you do.” King inhaled, and his tiny hands increased their grip around Diane’s fingers. “I love you so much. None of this would have been possible without you.”

His touch and the warmth of his smile melted all troubles and anxiousness of the day away. Nothing else mattered, and if Diane had to put up with a thousand near-deaf Giants to earn this one moment with the one she loved, she would jump into the fray without hesitation.

She dragged him closer, intoxicated by the flowery scent of his skin, lost in his amber eyes, and cradled by all the compliments he showered her with, too generous to be true, but oh, so earnest. The cleft disappeared, and Diane covered King’s face with a kiss.

Before he could pass out from a lack of oxygen, Diane pulled back. She smiled at his expression, a perfect replica of the dazzled Fairy boy before he had grown his wings.

“I love you too, King. And thank you for the party. It’s perfect. When did you have time to organize all this anyway?”

“Oh, that? I really didn’t do much in terms of setting up the location or preparing the meat. The others deserve all your thanks for the hard work. I just flew around a little to find some special ingredients for the stew.”

Diane laughed. “Still a delivery boy at heart, I see. The Captain must have drilled this chore especially deep into your head.”

“I guess he discovered this hidden talent of mine before even I could see it.”

More and more Giants and Fairies followed the sound of the flutes, and soon the clearing disappeared in a crowd of feet and wings. Bowls of two different sizes wandered through the guests, a stew of turnips and roots and chanterelle. While nothing between Purgatory and the Sky Temple could match Ban’s carrot soup, Diane gulped down three helpings in record time, mesmerized by the earthy taste. And she would have asked for an additional portion, if King hadn’t handed her a spit with her favorite type of roasted pork.

The smell of fat made her mouth watery. “Can I marry you a second time?”

“I would marry you every single day, every single year ahead of us, if I could,” King said.

Diane grinned and for the next few minutes, she was too occupied with chewing to talk. The chatter of the people around her blurred into a pleasant carpet of sound. This was what she had always envisioned: Giants and Fairies united in spite of their stupid differences and their arguments, an exchange of words and food to the soft crackle of a campfire. And her and King in the middle of it all, finally side by side after all this time.

The stars stood high up in the sky, a million more than humans could ever spot in Liones or Camelot. From time to time, they winked as if to congratulate King and Diane on what they had accomplished. He leaned against her knee while she stroked the filigree ornamentations of his wings. A shudder rocked him whenever Diane found a new nerve to stimulate.

Neither of them felt the need to disturb the moment with words.

Then a single flute raised its voice above the conversations, a new tune, almost melancholic at first. A panpipe picked up where its companion had left of and gave the melody a merry spin. The flautist enticed a few more notes out of his instrument, and for a moment it and the panpipe seemed to fight a musical battle for the tone of their sonata. But then they fell into harmony, drums and chimes and a fiddle joined in, and soon the entire orchestra played a tarantella to invite the crowd to a dance.

King jerked up. After he had risen into the air, he bowed and extended a hand towards Diane. Sparks from the campfire reflected in his eyes.  “May I have this dance?”

Diane took his hand with a smile. “You may.”

One with the music and the rhythm of nature, King and Diane spun around the fire. Her feet bopped and arched, and he mimicked her moves midair. One moment she pulled him so close their noses almost touched, the next he guided her into another twirl and their fingers parted to finish a sequence with two claps. Other pairs skipped onto the dance floor; Matrona and Zalpa, Ende and Gerheade, and ever so rarely a Giant and Fairy together.

Although her steps lead her astray sometimes, Diane always found King’s eyes in the crowd. Never more than a pirouette away, still in sync with her. The music chased them in circles, two claps of the hands, and another sequence of hops and taps and spins. The odors of cooking fat and sweat from a multitude of dancers got to Diane’s head. Dizziness hijacked her senses until nothing but the next step filled her mind.

With two final claps, the dance ended. King hovered mere inches away from her, guided there by his own doing or a by a smile of fortune. His chest heaved up and down and the many turns had tousled his hair. But his grin was the incarnation of pure joy, brighter than the fire and the firmament.

Their kiss held more force this time, driven by the passion of the dance and heated by the blood rushing into both their heads. The touch of his skin and the flowery taste of his lips replaced the world around Diane, and they were one.

Yes, the merger caused them trouble every day, and Giants and Fairies alike strained their patience with a hellish desire to convince them to give up.

But King and Diane proved time and time again that beauty lay in the union between their clans. They fought for what they believed in, and they continued to push the boundaries of what Chaos’ creations were meant to achieve.

For moments like this.

[minidigidestined]

Coiled Hope Part 1

This is mostly just worldbuilding and first-meeting explanation kinda-sorta-diary-style-ish thing for my very self indulgent fair folk/magical creature story featuring my darling and I’s nagasonas. I was thinking of rewriting it since it’s kinda blocky, but I like this diary first person pov for my planning and plain ol blurb stage. I’m excited to do more with this and other ideas, vore and otherwise–but first I’m excited to figure out the magic system and history of this world.

Anywho, a sand boa is brought to a remote mountain forest after keeping fair folk in captivity or servitude has been outlawed, whisking her away from a contented life with her human master. The small, pampered naga reminisces on life as she tries to figure out what to do next, and is shocked when she comes face to face with a wild fair folk–a massive rainbow boa many times her size.

I huddled, cold and silent, within the gnarled roots of an old willow. The ground was still damp with yesterday’s rain and the croaking of toads rung out like some sort of haunting choir–the realization that I had never been so alone seemed to smash into me face first. Like a sack of bricks.

Just yesterday, life was perfect. My Master had been stern, but she was kind. She adopted me from a lab study when I was still a juvenile–when the laws restricting the lab testing of fair folk became illegal–and had nurtured me in her home ever since.

I had become accustomed to human food, neverending warmth, and plenty of nice plants, sand and shredded bark to burrow through and had not wanted for anything since my youth in the labs. I had an entire room to myself in her home, and though I was never allowed out, I knew to be grateful to have come into the possession of such a wealthy and caring woman. I never asked many questions, but there wasn’t much I wanted to know anyways. I was just happy to be safe and content.

…Perhaps I was isolated too, but I certainly didn’t mind–nagas, after all, are solitary in nature, and so long as I had good food, a few books and a constant hot spot? Bliss.

Now that was all over though. Keeping the fair folk as pets or slaves was outlawed mere days ago, and my kind were granted citizenship in the human world–both captive and wild roaming “renegade” folk alike.

Thinking of my days back at the lab made me glad to have my “humanity” realized for sure, but… I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy being with my Master. Even if other humans may have deemed me a mere pet, she always treated me like something more, something precious and worth protecting. She gave me humanity after a childhood of being nothing more than a beast, desperate to survive test after grueling test.

A wash of cold dread came over me in a wave, a lump forming in my throat. I clenched my jaw and desperately willed the old memories away, scratching at the skin of my arms anxiously with my stubby claws. Not here, not now… I couldn’t afford a meltdown, especially since I wasn’t sure if the tranquilizer the FFC–Fair Folk Control–officers had used on my last fit in the van would still affect me if my blood pressure rose or if adrenaline started to flow. I imagined the drug turning my blood syrupy and blanketing my brain, hissing through my teeth and forcibly controlling my breaths. Think of Master. She was always so sad when you got like this.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss her silent appraisal and warm smile with all my broken heart, for sure. It was certainly better than this miserable mountain forest those FFC officers dumped me in after seizing me from my master, whisking me far away from human civilization. It was starting to sound a lot more like segregation than freedom the more I thought about it… I don’t think they even realized this was nowhere near my “natural environment”. Citizenship my tail.

For a small-sized sand boa like me, the damp air seemed to chill with a vengeance. I anxiously drew my chubby fingers over the nubby end if my tail, a nervous habit I formed in the labs. I distantly remembered both my master and scientists discussing portals to the Other–my birthright as fair folk, but a world I had never seen since being bred on Earth. Was that an option for me now?

My stomach began to knot painfully during my pondering, and I nearly keened with distress from imagining my master serving me my favorite dumpling soup in my flower bowl with the chipped paint.

No more dumplings. No more bowls. No more Master.

My senses seemed to heighten with my sharpening hunger, my tongue flicking out to scent the air. As much as the idea distressed me, I could smell the breathing creatures around me and knew that my wild kin would already be hunting… But I had only ever fed on pellets or human food, and though the idea of a full belly sounded nice, a belly full of cold, wriggling toads did not.

Miserable, I forced myself to slither from the roots. Maybe there would be another fair folk in these woods–if Master had thought so highly of my kind, then surely they would be willing to band together? Perhaps we could even talk about how much we loved our Masters together! Maybe we could find our way back. Maybe I could even learn more about the Other! For the first time since being taken away, I let myself begin to hope.

I winced at the mud caking on the pearly white underbelly of my tail and made a note to take a bath–or at least find a lake. I slithered along, clutching the hem of my baby pink dress tightly, my nerves utterly shot. I had always loved my adventure books, but going on an adventure myself? Not as exciting as I had dreamed.

I lost myself in the twisting anxiety and hope of my thoughts, barely registering twigs snapping loudly beneath the bulk of my tail or sharp stones scraping against my scales. I twisted the fabric of my dress thoughtfully over my knuckles, contemplating the fact that this was the last piece of my Master I would ever have, hand sewn and worn thin with love.I stopped, forcing myself to breathe evenly again.

I looked down into a muddy puddle, smiling sadly at my full-moon face. Even in my despair my eyes twinkled a soft pink, my round cheeks flushed and tangled brown curls tied to the side of my head, spilling over and hiding one of my pointed ears. I flex my tail and lift upwards a little to inspect my dress, pulling off stray leaves and admiring the roundness of my fat frame, all soft without an edge in sight.

My hips slipped seamlessly into a serpentine tail, in particular, the sausage-like shape of a sand boa. My scales are patterned pale brown and white with speckles of soft pink, the trio of colors almost like delicately flicked paint splatters. Master always told me I had the look of sweetness, if not a bit ditzy–but she always said it with a smile.

I tighten the band holding my curls together, ensuring the volume of the small poof at the crown of my head. I’m so utterly focused on my simple task that I almost blacked out in pure fear when another face appeared next to mine in the muddy pool.

I scramble forward with a cry and twist around, thrusting my hands out in a questionable showcase of self defense. I slap against something soft but firm–the slight yield of the intruder’s belly?–and jerk my hands back with a squeak as I look up to face the forest-dweller.

And up, and up, and up…

The creature before me is looming and massive, but sleek at the same time. I realize with a start that he’s a naga like me, but that seemed to be where the similarities end. Whereas my humanoid half is smaller than the average human, he was much, much bigger. His tail, though thin like the rest of him, is coiled with lean muscle and a deep red color like an apple, a few ebony markings ringing his spine.

“Hey, sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you.” His smile was easy and genuine, but fear still made my heart race. “Are you okay?”

He was thin, a deep red cape draped across his shoulders and trailing the ground, its edges dirty and worn. Red scales speckled up his hips, torso and chest like freckles, blending in with the fuzz on his belly. His fingers were tipped by deadly sharp claws, his earthy brown hair long and messy. He looked equal parts ridiculous and regal, wild and in control.

I gaped like a fish out of water, pressing a hand to my chest when the clouds shifted and light came pouring over us… The massive naga seemed to suddenly swim with colors, his tail glittering and iridescent. I locked eyes with him and felt myself growing lost in the golden pools. “What are you?” My voice was a breath. Even in the labs, I had never seen another fair folk who…who shined. Not like this.

He smiled gently, opening his mouth to speak when a low grumble, slipping into a sharp growl, interrupted him. “Sorry, I’m starving,” He explained sheepishly, his long fangs glinting.

A chill ran down my back when I remembered the huge pythons back at the lab at feeding time, how they’d swallow human or fair folk prisoners whole since they couldn’t subsist off of engineered pellets alone. This guy definitely looked like a snake that would choose a whole person over a bowl of soup for a meal–but I wasn’t about to stick around and find out, pretty as his tail was.

It was as if my flight response finally kicked in as I whipped around to flee, but I was quickly halted by a glittering wall of scale and muscle. White noise filled my brain, my vision, my entire being.

Master… I thought. Please help me. Please save me again. I pressed the heel of my hands into my eyes, both trying to stop the tears and deluding myself into thinking I could hide.

“Yo, wait! You don’t wanna run that way. There’s some big gators there, they’d have you for a snack. You aren’t from here, are you?”

I still didn’t turn to look at him, but the naga’s voice held both concern and a trickle of amusement. He… he didn’t seem like a predator…

I tried to steady the stream of tears, turning to face him once more. “No, I’m not.”

His eyes widened at the glimmer of tears on my cheeks. “Hey, what’s wrong? You’re okay here, I promise. It’s okay.”

And before I knew it, it all came pouring out–both the unrelenting tears and my story. The huge naga listened intently, his lips pursed into a line of concern and his golden eyes focused right on me. I felt embarrassed by his rapt attention, but at the same time…seen. Really, truly Seen.

“I’m really sorry.” The larger naga reached down, his huge hand hovering inches above my plump little arm. “Is it okay if I touch you?”

I stared up at him with bleary eyes. “I’m so sorry. That all just burst out and I couldn’t stop and I just… You don’t have to comfort me.” I paused, heart twisting with a cocktail of shame and sweetness. “But uh…you can. Thank you. For being here. You don’t even know me and you’re…”

His hand was cool and firm, the skin rough. He gently stroked my arm with the pad of his thumb, his eyes looking far away. “You don’t need to apologize. Humans do bad things. They make bad choices, and then good people are left to pick up the pieces.”

His attention snapped back, his lazy smile returning as if he had never frowned in his life. “That’s why the forest is better, especially up on a mountain like this. I’m glad your…caretaker was good, but I promise a friend is even better.” The world ‘caretaker’s rolled off his tongue like a poison. Odd.

I couldn’t stop the rush of heat to my cheeks. “Thank you… Who are you, actually? I’ve dished out my whole life story and I don’t even know your name!” Now that my meltdown and blubbering had faded, I felt as if I could curl up into a ball and roll right away into nothing.

“Spectrum Maximus.” He grinned at my cocked eyebrow, flicking his lengthy tail to show off its iridescence. “I chose it myself! Now, who’re you?”

“You can do that?” I asked shyly, giggling at the name. “Well, in the study labs I was 42… My Master liked to call me Clover.”

Spectrum’s eyes fluttered with mischief. “I guess it’s appropriate, since it’s good luck that I found you here, but it sucks you never got a say. Who do you want to be?”

I couldn’t halt the flustered blush spreading across my face, though I couldn’t understand why. Who…did I want to be?

I looked downward, fiddling with the hem of my dress. I thought of every book, play and poem I had ever read, every bird and bug at the window, every season and holiday. Names and words flashed through my head, but still I came up blank. What in the world is a name? I never cared that Master called me Clover, but it didn’t feel like…

Home.

Maybe that’s what a name was–home. I thought of soft evenings in my room, Master smiling as she set down a bowl of homemade soup or curry or pasta on my desk and flipping open my favorite book. I thought of curling up next to her legs to eat, her slender fingers playing through my curls as she read to me. I thought of her teaching me how to read, how to write, how to sing along to a melody… I thought of one of our favorite treats to share together beneath my heat lamps, hot cocoa with peppermint chips and a sprinkle of cinnamon.

Cinnamon. Warm, cozy and inviting.

“I’m Cinnamon.” I felt a warmth spread through my chest. Maybe those days were gone, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t carry them with me. That didn’t mean I couldn’t define who I was today. Who I wanted to be today.

“Cinnamon,” He repeated, speaking my new name as if it were something holy and special. “I think it suits you.” I felt a different kind of warmth surge through my cold blood at the way the corners of his mouth dimpled.

“Please, you barely even know me! You’ve just seen me a blubbering mess.”

“Well if that’s your worst, you must be pretty great,” He grinned, eyes twinkling with mirth. “I really hope you never see me cry. It’s about as gross and snotty as a snake can get.” His stomach snarled pitifully once more and he slapped it, brow quirking. “Shut up, you! You’re scaring our new friend!”

I winced. “Oh… You noticed?” At the rate my blush was growing, I might’ve well have been a rosy boa!

“You gasping in fear and trying to run away right into a bog? Yeah. It’s fine though, I usually have that affect on ladies.”

I rolled my eyes, unable to stop the smile bowing my own lips now. “So… You don’t y'know…eat people?”

“I’m not going to eat you if that’s what you’re asking. I am hungry though–I can take you back to my cave if you’d like. I cook a mean stew.”

“I could actually cook for you if you’d like. My Master taught me a few things for fun. It’s the least I can do.”

Spectrum smiled, his eyes the color of honey dripping from the comb and just as warm. “If it’ll get you to stop thanking me over and over when I’ve literally done nothing but sit here? Sure. Plus the mean is literal. I’m a really bad cook, so maybe it’s better if the homebody cooks something instead of the weird forest hermit.”

I couldn’t help but smile back even wider–the man’s mirth was positively infectious. “Well, you did keep me from being eaten by a gator.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” He slithered around me, coils whispering across the ground. How was such a massive creature so silent–if not in voice, then in movement? “Sometimes they like to visit my cave.”

I scrunched up my nose and flicked my tongue out instinctively as he passed. He smelled wild–dirt, sweat and trees. So different from my old homes, but welcome all the same. Maybe this wouldn’t be the end of the world after all.

And so, I followed him.

[exileseverafter]

Chapter 5

Strawberry Pie and the Winter Prince

“He’s got legs like tree trunks! Big yellow eyes! I imagine he could throw a boulder the length of the forest. I KNEW that maiden was in trouble!”

Ezra did not go with Marjorie to her ‘Moonflower Market’ that night, or the next. It wasn’t out of lack of curiosity or laziness. He already felt restless and ill at ease knowing he had no steady income, as while servitude under Hamilton Tooth had been unbearable at times he at least didn’t live in fear of missing a meal. Rather, his pride simply wouldn’t allow him to show up at a bazaar selling only a single pie, even if that pie could be sliced up to feed a good 20 humans according to Marjorie. “It’s preposterous,” he’d insisted at the time. “If this is to be my ‘debut’ as a baker here in the Center of the Universe, and if I’m to attract customers as you seem to think I can, I won’t do it with subpar work! Certainly not with cold cheese and mushroom pie.” (He’d already eaten a slice of the other pie for supper.) “At least let me prepare a decent strawberry pie. As soon as I can find strawberries…” It took a week, in fact, to gather the ingredients and prepare for his ‘debut’ at the Market. During that time he made several discoveries about life on the surface. Forests in particular were absolutely teeming with life. On the Sky Islands, the plants that grew there did so in organized ways, sending their roots down into the translucent surface of the cloud and blooming to produce brightly colored fruits or perfumed flowers. Here the plant life seemed determined to spread across every inch of land available, vines choking trees and lichens feasting on their fallen corpses. Where the enormous fir trees didn’t choke out the sunlight, patches of grass formed carpets studded with toadstools and weeds. Insects buzzed about, many too tiny to see until they’d landed on his nose or left his wrists with itchy bites. In the Sky there had been birds, and only birds; no other animal seemed to thrive on the Islands unless it was a pampered pet, and even Enlightened land animals showed no interest in trying. The priests of the Sun theorized that this was because birds were the favored of the Sun, the ones among the animals who hadn’t turned their backs on Her and thus could still fly far higher than the insects could. The scientists thought it had something to do with the kinds of plants grown in the Sky, pointing out that even flightless birds like chickens did just fine. Whatever the reason, it led to birds being enormously popular with the Sky Folk as livestock or pets. The massive Capital Island of Vox, hovering perpetually over the ocean, was said to hold a glorious menagerie with one inhabitant: a phoenix, one of the last in the world. Yet even in Mielle, Ezra could not recall the flocks of birds which woke him every morning with gentle chattering and warning calls. Swarms of them sat on the branches of a dying tree until they gave it the illusion of leaves. Birds lived in the Islands, but they thrived on the ground. What he was to make of that, he didn’t know. Marjorie, for her part, went about her business privately as she promised she would, answering questions only with some needling. She cheerfully told him where to find wild strawberries and edible mushrooms, possibly just happy to have the place to herself while he went out gathering. It took pressing her a bit more to find out that they were currently on the outskirts of the Ever Empire, a human-ruled nation that was in her words, “of no concern to us as they don’t send tax collectors out here.” He also learned there weren’t any terrestrial villages within a week’s travel, leaving Ezra to conclude that this Market was the only way he could continue living as a baker instead of inevitably going mad as a hermit with a chatty freeloader. He found himself wondering what exactly G. Chulainn did to cause so much terror if he was so far away from anyone at all. He also learned from her how sacks of flour and sugar, bottles of milk and eggs would show up every other morning without explanation. “A little birdie brings them,” she said with a coy look. “And I may have told that little birdie that I have an ailing grandmother. But he wouldn’t bring it if he couldn’t spare it, right?” One afternoon he sat gathering strawberries in the meadow, kneeling next to the plant and plucking them with his chubby fingers as delicately as he could. He’d discovered that blueberries were a lost cause; tiny as they were, they’d end up squashed and smeared on his hands no matter how careful he was. “I suppose I’ll have to learn how to shape dough more delicately as well,” he muttered to himself as he wiped sweat off his brow, the sun beating down on him. “No wonder humans think they’re the default for everything. It’s all sized perfectly for them down here. Well, except for the trees, and the bears…” He thought he heard a rustling in the surrounding woods, freezing on instinct and wishing he’d brought his cooking pot. Had merely mentioning bears jinxed him in some way, bringing them down on him? Didn’t they love sweet things like fruit? Certainly he was larger than a bear or a wolf, but that didn’t mean he wanted to run into one. For a brief second he thought he saw two sets of eyes peering out at him, one bestial and one more human. Then he saw a flash of movement and both disappeared, leaving him standing and staring in the heat and feeling a little foolish. # “The giant has returned!” Basil burst into his cabin with so much energy he could have torn the door right off if he weren’t careful. “I knew it!” Lavender paused in her sweeping and looked up at the young prince, smiling gently. “That’s wonderful, Dear. You can bring him a housewarming gift later. Help me get the corners here, won’t you?” Basil took the broom without even thinking about it, too distracted to be of much help sweeping. “He’s got legs like tree trunks! Big yellow eyes! I imagine he could throw a boulder the length of the forest. I KNEW that maiden was in trouble!” “Maiden?” Lavender raised an eyebrow, setting herself down on a wooden chair as Basil rushed past her, imitating the battle he dreamed of in broom-handle pantomime. “You mean that girl with the sick grandmother in the old giants’ cottage?” “And a fishy story it is, right? Why would a girl with high-class manners be out in the woods with her grandmother for no reason at all?” “Oh, I don’t know. Why would a prince be out in the woods with his fairy godmothers? One of whom he did not kiss when he came in, might I add.” “Ah…” Basil rubbed the back of his neck with a gloved hand and bowed his head. “Sorry, Grandmother!” He gave her a kiss on the wrinkled cheek she presented and set the broom aside, still too excited to notice how his booted feet were already starting to warm up. “Just got a little excited. And I see your point, but I mean…I have a reason. Which is why I thought she had to have reason, too. And now I know what it is! She’s actually a prisoner of that giant, and she can’t say or he’ll crush her bones to make his bread! Or whatever giants do. Didn’t one of them kidnap maidens some time ago?” Lavender just pursed her thin lips together and made a ‘hmm’ sound. “You don’t believe me? I-hooo.” The cold was creeping through Basil’s limbs again, and he quickly sat himself in front of the fireplace, burning perpetually thanks to fairy magic. The same magic kept the inside of the cabin warm as a steam bath for his sake, something the godmothers insisted they didn’t mind in the least. He wrapped his heavy coat and cloak around him, letting the warmth surround him until the terrible chill had passed. But he forced a smile and shook his head, letting his long brown hair fall loose from its braid. “I’m fine now. Honest! Toasty warm. And I’ll feel warmer once I save that maiden.” Lavender pressed a bowl of hot chicken soup into his hands, the heat from the clay bowl soothing instead of burning. “Do you fancy that maiden?” “What? No!” Basil wrinkled his nose, and then remembered that a Prince Charming never spoke that way about a young lady. “I mean, she seems nice enough but I don’t ‘fancy’ her in that way. Why do you keep asking that whenever I want to help someone?” “A fairy godmother just wants to see her boy settled and happy, that’s all.” “And a prince has a marriage arranged for him, right? I mean, eventually. After de-cursing.” He found the idea a little relaxing. Without having to worry about his eventual marriage, he could concentrate on becoming Prince Charming and fighting dragons. Surely he could still do that after his parents married him off to some foreign princess, right? “I just want to save someone. I mean, that’s what princes…do.” “The princes in the stories do, sure.” Lavender started brushing his hair, a habit he couldn’t convince her to stop doing even if it left him feeling like a little kid again. “Now you’re really convinced this is a wicked giant we’re dealing with, or do you just want a wicked giant to fight?” How did Lavender manage to make Basil feel like a chastened child even now that he was a young man? “I want a problem to solve. I want to help people, like my brother and sister do. When I get to play that role, the person who swoops in and saves the helpless, it makes me feel, I don’t know. Useful. Important.” He looked down at his hands, the fingertips still cool despite the crackling fireplace and hot soup. “It warms me, I guess.” After another ‘hmm,’ Lavender went back to brushing his hair. “I think if you go out tonight and keep an eye on the Moonflower Gate, you’ll find someone in distress. Fairy intuition. Just remember, the situation might not be what you think it is. You can’t always trust your eyes, because your mind lies to them.” “And how could my own mind possibly lie to myself? But-thank you, Grandmother.” Basil turned around and smiled. “I’m going to brush the burrs out of Aurora’s fur. You don’t think she’ll be too tired to go out tonight?” The old fairy woman chuckled. “Aurora’s been sleeping and eating quite enough. I think the exercise will do her good.” “And if the giant isn’t wicked but is a great warrior, you think he’ll let me challenge his strength?” Basil couldn’t hide the eager smile on his face, ignoring how Lavender rolled her eyes. “Go check on your bear.” # That evening, Ezra followed Marjorie down what seemed to be the most meandering forest path possible. She was wheeling a rickety wooden cart with her carved miniatures and glass baubles, he a larger but equally unstable one stacked with freshly baked strawberry and custard pies. She seemed to be in a particularly good mood, chatting the entire way; Ezra didn’t mind, as it distracted from the distant howls and hoots of the dark woods. “I swear it, dear Mr. Kettle, those pies smell heavenly! I still think that cheese and mushroom bit was good enough to sell on its own, but I see you have a nose for quality. A nose for it!” “Well,” Ezra murmured, “fragrance is important. It interacts with taste, you know. And the crust is a family recipe…!” “And if I live long enough with you I’ll be too round to fit in that house for certain. I’m glad you’re selling those things and keeping them out of my way!” Marjorie hummed as she toted along her cart. The road was worn smooth with footsteps, provided one avoided the occasional jagged rock or puddle. “But yes, Moonflower Market. Oh, what a glorious place, Moonflower Market! There’s simply no fairy market like it. It’s where you go to get something unusual. Say you want to cast a spell? Well, some witches use miniatures for that purpose, though I don’t know the true process. Say you want a tiny recreation of the throne of King Theodore the Warlord? I have no idea why you’d desire such a thing, but I sold one I made with enough to buy myself a new dress.” “Art collectors, I’d imagine.” Ezra held his head a bit higher. “It’s good to know even people down here appreciate the hard work of an artisan.” Marjorie just shrugged at that. “Whatever you mean by that. You know we’re not all luddites down here, right? We manage just fine without fancy blue apples and rocs.” Realizing he might have said the wrong thing, Ezra colored in his cheeks. “And it’s wonderful work you do down here,” he added hastily, eager to change the subject. “What sort of things do they sell?” “Rarities. I know, you’re about to point out that a pie is not a rarity, but Sky cuisine is not exactly common down here! Just emphasize your family’s legendary baking prowess and people will buy it just for the experience, even if a strawberry pie is just a strawberry pie in the end. Then they can brag that they’ve tasted the sorts of foods only royalty get to try. And giants of course, but maybe that’s part of the novelty.” “I don’t know how I feel about being a ‘novelty,’” Ezra said. He had an odd feeling in his stomach about this whole affair. What if one of his kin was there, recognizing him as a criminal exile? What if his presence really did scare off humans who weren’t as odd as Marjorie? He already felt big and out of place outside of the cabin, his makeshift cart dwarfing hers and still feeling like a child’s toy. Would his customers just gawk at him, or worry he’d be a violent lout like other Sky exiles? Marjorie hadn’t heard him, or pretended she hadn’t. “The best thing to do is to flatter your customers just a little bit. ‘You look like you have a healthy sweet tooth!’ I’d say. Or perhaps, ‘the redness of the strawberries suits the blue of your eyes.’ Or perhaps you can’t sell pies the way you can jewelry…” “The blue of your…what?” Ezra stared at Marjorie. “Eyes.” She pointed at her own. “People like when you compliment their eyes. Windows to the soul and all that.” Ezra scoffed. “Eyes are gold. …Right?” “Well, yours are! Quite unusual; human eyes usually don’t come in that color. Or, wait.” She pondered for a second, tapping her lips with her finger. “Let me guess. Your kind all have gold eyes, right?” “Yes, because that’s the color eyes are!” Ezra fumed, sensing she was making a fool of him again, until he realized what he was arguing about. “Wait, humans don’t have…excuse me for a second.” He knelt down to examine her face a little closer, squinting until he could make out the irises. It wasn’t easy in the dark. “You have green eyes,” he finally concluded, marveling. Marjorie stared up at him and then laughed. “Of course! Our eyes are small compared to yours, so even when you’re making eye contact you don’t always register the iris color. No offense, but your kind does seem to have trouble seeing past your own noses, metaphorically speaking.” Feeling rather humiliated and at the same time frustrated with humans for being as small and complex as they apparently were, he turned away and continued on the path. “Eye color doesn’t matter.” “Not unless you’re complimenting a lover, no. I agree.” Marjorie chuckled again and moved on. “Oh, but the things they sell there. Enchanted soups, love potions, spell artifacts, magic plants. Once I saw a cauldron that produced noodles with one word-oh, mind that branch!” She’d been a little late with the warning, as the tree branch had already smacked Ezra in the face, but he was too stunned to notice the stinging nosebleed that resulted. “Did-did you say magic plants?” The human stood still for a moment, as if thinking, and then cleared her throat. “Sorry, just lost my train of thought! Yes, you get those from time to time.” “Say…anything like magic beans?” “Beans? Hmm. Perhaps? Maybe? I see so many things, it’s hard to recall. What’s a baker want with beans, anyway? You know how to make a cassoulet? I do adore cassoulet…” “Uh, nothing. I mean, yes. Sort of.” Ezra was hardly in the mood to explain the whole story to Marjorie now of all times, but already his mind was racing. He’d thought he could use any success he gained at the Market to spread word of his talent around among the humans, finding himself prestige in the Center of the Universe. Were he well-known and beloved enough down here, perhaps he’d have more success appealing his unfair sentence. But if there was someone selling magic beans, like the ones which had created the monstrous beanstalk, maybe they could lead him to Jack. And if he could find the real culprit, be it that seemingly innocent human boy or the one who had sent him… “We’re here, Ezra!” Marjorie snapped him out of his own thoughts. They’d arrived at a perfectly circular clearing, the grass well-worn and flat in places. It was completely deserted and lit only by the light of the full moon. He glanced around, rubbing his chin in concern. “Are we very early? I thought you said it started at midnight, and I’m sure it’s nearly that time.” “It is! And we’re not but a few minutes early. And yes, this is the place.” Marjorie pouted up at him, patting him on the thigh. “Have a little bit of faith in me, my large friend! Just give it a few minutes…” The rustling around them would seem to confirm Marjorie’s words. “Oh! That must be them now. I guess they’re all arriving at the same ti-” Ezra felt a tug on his shirt and looked down at Marjorie, whose smile had vanished and been replaced with a wide-eyed stare. She was holding her finger in front of her mouth to shush him, pointing outward. There were no merchants emerging from the woods. Instead, dozens of gold eyes emerged, dark shapes shuffling out with lowered heads and hunched forms. Wolves, Ezra knew from pictures; though the wolves he’d seen had been far less menacing and hungry-looking than these. He also imagined them being much smaller, like large dogs. These were at least a head taller than Marjorie, and she was a tall human. “Marjorie,” he whispered down to her. “Get a bit closer. I could probably take one or two of them just fine…” One or two he might be able to handle, but there were at least nine. “Is this normal?” “No it’s not normal!” she snapped, reaching for a dagger she’d apparently hidden in her dress. “I’ve never seen wolves like this before. This is supposed to be an enchanted glen. You know, protected.” He swallowed, clenching his hands into fists and mustering up willpower. He had to have some courage in there somewhere, didn’t he? “You can probably make a run for it while they go after me. I’m sure between the two of us, the fat giant is the more tempting target.” “Oh, I will not! I said I’d get you to the Market and I’m going to do that! Somehow, yes…” The wolves hunched and then growled, the largest one with an enormous, shaggy mane and blood red eyes. It was big enough to reach Ezra’s chest, and he could already imagine it tearing into his throat. He’d die in total obscurity after all, without any surviving ancestors to even return his body to the sky… The wolf growled and lunged, jaws out. Acting on instinct, he swung a fist and miraculously connected, nailing the beast right beneath the chin. It stumbled back, yelping and snarling, as Ezra stared at his own arms. “I…how did I do that?!” “You’re a giant, silly! However you were up there, you’re quite strong in comparison down here!” Marjorie had somehow managed to climb onto his shoulders, and he couldn’t blame her under the circumstances. “Think you could do that, oh, about 40 more times? Because there’s more coming…” “N-no, I don’t,” Ezra admitted, backing up against the carts as the wolves closed in on them. The big one was uttering strange noises, almost as if it was passing on orders to its hungry brethren. One after another they lunged, leaped… And were flung yelping away. Ezra opened his eyes. He was sure he hadn’t done that. Instead there was a great bulky form, fur white as the moon itself, swatting the beasts away with long black claws. A bear, Ezra recognized from the shape, though he’d never seen one that color in the paintings. Riding atop it was a figure in a thick, fur-lined cloak over an equally heavy coat, face wrapped in a scarf and long black braid trailing behind him. He had a sword hanging in a scabbard at his side and pulled it out to fight off the rest of the wolves, sending them running back into the woods in a matter of minutes. The bear rider turned to face Ezra in particular, silhouetted by the moonlight. He dressed for far colder weather than the warm night necessitated, a golden amulet hanging from his neck. The young warrior pulled the scarf down so he could speak. “And now, Giant…” “You saved me,” Ezra blurted out before feeling incredibly foolish for even speaking to such a person. But no one had ever saved him before. Not when his family was sinking into debt, not when his parents were dying, not when he was on trial for something everyone knew he hadn’t done. It was an indescribable feeling. “Ohhh, thank goodness you’re here,” Marjorie added as she appeared from behind Ezra. She wiped blood off the tip of her dagger; apparently she’d gotten a few blows on a wolf herself. “You always are helpful, my little birdie. Basil, this is Ezra Kettle, the new owner of the cottage. He’s helping me take care of my sick grandmother.” Ezra would only later realize she’d mentioned a nonexistent grandmother; he was too busy staring at the bear rider, apparently named Basil. “Ezra, this is Basil, Prince of…um, hello?” She poked at him. “Hello?” Basil looked down at Marjorie, then up at Ezra, dismounting from his bear and giving the latter a baffled look. “A pleasure to meet you, sir,” he said in a voice that didn’t sound quite sincere. Had Ezra committed some kind of offense? Was he expected to offer something in recompense? What was the etiquette regarding being saved by a handsome prince? Marjorie gave Ezra a strange look and then shrugged. “Mr. Prince of the Blue Forest, could you stick around and escort us to the Market once the gate is open? You know, in case more weird wolves show up.” That seemed to excite the prince, whose eyes lit up like the stars. “Escort you? Of course, my lady! My large…sir.” He bowed to both of them, tipping his wide-brimmed hat with fur gloved hands. “The gate should open any moment now, and I shall ensure your safety from all ills.” “You can have some pie,” Ezra interjected, and then wondered why he’d been so insistent about it. “Uh, thank you.” Basil gave Ezra another awkward look up, confirming it in Ezra’s mind that he’d already made several major social fumbles with the prince. “Though we’ve never seen wolves like that in the forest before either. Strange! I wonder if that means something terrible’s afoot…” “You’re a little too excited about something terrible being afoot, Highness,” Marjorie mock-whispered at him. Ezra would have agreed, but he was distracted by the dizziness he felt when he looked at Basil. A gentle, warm breeze blew into the clearing. The grass turned from dark green to a bright blue, lit by a circle of periwinkle-blue, bell-shaped flowers glowing like morning stars. The glow increased in intensity until it bathed them in blue light, the surrounding woods warping and rippling out of view. Ezra reached to steady his cart by instinct, even though nothing was actually moving, thanking the Sun that he’d only lost one pie in the fracas and the wolves had mostly ignored the cart. That was strange, he’d realize later; why would wolves be picky? In the storm of light and the strange, static sensation it brought on his skin, Ezra couldn’t help but notice something that was of great importance to him at that moment. Basil had brown eyes.

(Author’s Note: Since I forgot to do a post last night, there’ll be another chapter up tomorrow. Hope you’re enjoying so far! If you are, let me know and give me a reblog. You can learn more about the series on the main page.)

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Considered to be among the best hiking trails in the world, the Larapinta Trail is as enormously challenging as it is unimaginably beautiful. Having worked in Central Australia for two years, I’d felt that I’d come to appreciate the cultural significance, design of the landscape and the brutality of the elements – but the Larapinta Trail was something else.

Hiking the 12 section, 271 kilometres of the Larapinta Trail over 14 days had long been a dream, but I’d also never believed in its reality. I’m a 27-year-old fella from Adelaide who craves the adrenalin of adventure but wishes the physical challenge didn’t have to accompany it.

Until hiking the Larapinta, I’d never trekked longer than 8 days consecutively. The longest solo trip I’d undertaken was only 3 days. But here I am, now back in Adelaide after an unreal adventure and I’d recommend it to anyone.

The view of Mount Sonder at sunrise. Photo: Ben Trewren

Choosing your itinerary

I chose to hike the trail East to West (Alice Springs to Mount Sonder) for a culmination of reasons:

This is the direction in which the trail was designed to be hiked.

You hike what’s considered the least interesting scenery first, but you don’t really know it as you don’t have anything to compare it with.

While the sections are longer at the beginning in terms of kilometres, I appreciated the relative flatness of starting with section 1 and 2. This allowed me some time for my body to adjust to the hot and dry climate, to my pack and to get on top of my hydration.

I was keen to finish on a high by climbing Mount Sonder as my last adventure on the trail. Better still, I wanted to enjoy the view of Mount Sonder as I approached.

The sun would be on my back instead of my face in the morning (I planned to start early and aimed to finish hiking early afternoon).

I wanted to make the most of the kiosk and showers at Ormiston Gorge between sections 9 and 10.

I had a clear timeframe, so I could confidently organise a pickup time from Redbank Gorge.

Getting started early on the long days to avoid the afternoon sun. Photo: Ben Trewren

When to Go

I was on the trail for the last week of August and the first week of September. The weather was incredibly kind to me with a daily average of 26°C and only two days above 30°C. This was such a relief as I was tormented with temperatures in the mid 30°C the week before, and similar forecasts the week after I completed the trail. Overnight was also quite mild. I never needed more than a fleece jumper and found sleeping pretty easy.

It was also a very quiet time. In total, I saw around 50 people on the trail and camped with no more than 5 people at a time. Much different to the stories from the peak period through June and July. Overall, the weather will be the biggest consideration for you when deciding to hit the trail. I was really happy with my time of year – not too hot during the day and no frostbite to my key body parts overnight.

I had clear bright blue skies every day whilst on the trail.  Photo: Ben Trewren

Duration of the trail

Having allocated myself 14 days on the trail, my navigation plan was constantly changing in the lead-up. However, I was really happy with my final decision. Hiking for 13 days and taking the opportunity for a rest day on Day 11 at Ormiston Gorge.

In a nutshell, I took a day to hike each of sections 1-8. I then split 9 in half over two days, before taking a rest day. Then 10 and half of 11 in a day, the second half of 11 the following day and then 12 on the final day. While on my day off, I tackled the Ormiston Pound Walk.

Logbooks were provided by NT Parks and Wildlife at every trailhead. Photo: Ben Trewren. 

Flights & Accommodation

I booked my flights to Alice Springs with Qantas using my Frequent Flyer points. It’s a 2-hour flight and there’s one flight a day from Adelaide to Alice Springs that usually arrives around 1 pm. And there’s another from Alice Springs to Adelaide which usually departs around 2 pm. I think it’s a very similar arrangement from other major cities.

I was fortunate to have friends who live in Alice Springs who generously picked me up and dropped me off at the airport, and gave me a place to stay. However, if you’re not as lucky as me, you can catch a shuttle for around $15 (cash) into Alice Springs Town Centre. Or a Taxi is anywhere between $30-$50 depending on your location.

Alice Springs has a range of accommodation like hostels, motels, and hotels which are all relatively affordable for what’s offered. When looking for accommodation, research pricing and then try and pick one a location close to the other services you’ll need (supermarkets, outdoor store, Visitor Information Centre, etc.).

Arriving in Alice Springs. Photo: Ben Trewren

How long does it take to complete?

One of the most adventurous things about the Larapinta Trail is that you can flexibly and safely choose your own adventure. I met some people aiming to complete the trail in 9 days, whereas I met others on their 20th day. It really does come down to how you want to tackle the challenge. I decided based on how much walking I thought I could complete each day (around 18-20kms), access to water and that I only had 2 weeks leave available.

Upon completing the Larapinta Trail, my longest day was 31.3kms through Section 6. My shortest day was 13.5kms through Section 7.

Try to avoid focusing on the km’s marked on the trail signs as they’re frequently incorrect (due to trail maintenance, changes, etc.). For the lightweight hikers – you can save a bit of weight by allocating maps to your food drop boxes.

Often, trailheads provided as much information as the maps did… Photo: Ben Trewren

Navigation

While I don’t recommend them because they lack map detail and the information (especially trail data) is frequently incorrect, as they’re currently the only option, it’s worthwhile getting your hands on the NT Parks and Wildlife map set available here. I got word on the trail that Larapinta Trail Trek Support (LTTS) are looking to create their own maps with far greater map detail. They also want to include more interactive information on the flora, fauna, history, cultural heritage, etc., which will be a fantastic improvement.

In saying all this, the trail is incredibly well marked with the familiar blue arrows on the white signs. Because of the abundance of signage, you often wonder whether there is a need for maps or a GPS.

Just follow the blue arrows… Photo: Ben Trewren

Food Drops & Trail Support

I paid LTTS for the End to End Solo Package and couldn’t be happier with my decision. Included in the package are 3 food drops at Standley Chasm, Ellery Creek and Ormiston Gorge along with box collection after I’d passed through (allowing me to unload gear if need be).

The package also included transfer back to Alice Springs from Redbank Gorge at the end of my walk, stove fuel provisions (as it can’t be transported on a plane), organisation of the food box room keys, PLB and SPOT hire and support and advice towards my navigation plans.

I highly recommend Zac and his team from LTTS to support you when undertaking the Larapinta Trail – they offer a huge amount of support for a range of requests.

My food boxes all packed and ready to give to LTTS before the start of my trek. Photo: Ben Trewren

Other gear to leave in your food boxes

Aside from food, your food boxes are a fantastic place for a change of clothes, batteries, toiletries and extra rewards like bottles of Gatorade.

They’re also fantastic for dumping gear you no longer needed on the trail (like my down jacket), no longer wanted (books that I didn’t have the energy to read) or became unusable (certain pairs of underwear).

Put an obvious rubbish bag in your Ellery Creek box. Unlike Standley Chasm and Ormiston Gorge, there are no bins and LTTS will need to take your rubbish for you. Double layer it if necessary to prevent the smell penetrating everything else in your box.

While LTTS help organise the pickup and return of your food box room key, you need to book it yourself. It’s easy enough by just calling Alice Springs Tourism Centre and paying your $50 deposit plus $10 fee over the phone. However, be mindful that the keys can book out (especially in peak periods) and then you need to rely on others. So for peace of mind, get in early on this one.

Picking up my food box at Ormiston Gorge. Photo: Ben Trewren

Food I took for the trek

I kept my menu varied and easy as I didn’t want to be consumed with ‘cooking’ along with my hike.

Here are some of the options I carried:

Breakfast – Muesli with Powdered Milk & Fruit Puree

Snacks – Lollies, Dried Fruit, Shapes, M&Ms, Dehydrated Fruit Straps

Lunch – Crackers, Tuna, Metwurst, Peanut Butter, Cheese

Dinner – Soup Powder, Dehydrated Meals

Looking back I would probably pack more salty snack options to assist with rehydration. For me, this would’ve looked like more soup powder, salty nuts and any other savoury snacks.

Some tips for the dehydrated meals:

Add a bit of extra water to assist with an alternative way of rehydrating.

Wait 20 minutes rather than 10 minutes for the food to rehydrate for better flavour and texture.

Eat straight from the bag (there’s a slit halfway down the pack to rip across and make it easy to eat from) so there’s no washing up.

I personally found the Back Country 1 serve sizes fine for my appetite, but recognise that I’m not a big eater.

Cottage Pie they reckon! One of my favourite rehydrated meals on the trip Photo: Ben Trewren

What kind of food is available at the Kiosk?

The usual cold drinks, ice-creams and chocolate bars are available at both kiosks. But it’s the range of homemade and fresh options that I really craved – especially when spending 14 days on a hiking trail.

At Standley Chasm, I had the Lasagna ($18) which came with three generous serves of salad. They’re also open for dinner Thursday to Saturday. I came through on a Saturday so I made the most of the fresh food and had a Steak with a massive bowl of steamed veggies for dinner.

Upon arriving at Ormiston Gorge, I tucked into their Big Breakfast ($16), while also enjoying their Salad ($10) and Steak Sandwich ($10) over the course of my stay. They also do a ripper of an Iced Coffee and the cakes are worth every cent. They were also very generous to package up a Lamb and Rice ($10) for me to reheat at dinner time.

Breakfast at Ormiston Gorge Kiosk. So good. Photo: Ben Trewren

Boots & Gaiters

The important thing to know about the Larapinta Trail is that there are rocks, rocks, rocks and more rocks. This is why you need boots that offer support. The second important thing to know is that the trail conditions exceeded my expectations. Not once did I feel like the trail wasn’t ‘clear’ to hike through so it wasn’t necessary to have epic amounts of ‘protection’.

I hiked in a pair of pretty solid Scarpa Kailash GTX boots. Upon reflection, I would’ve opted for a lighter and more breathable pair of boots that still offered support. Most importantly, make sure your soles are in good nick and are durable enough to handle the rocky terrain. It’s not uncommon to hear of people’s boots disintegrating mid-trail because they lacked quality or they had been overused prior to starting. I saw one lady wearing Dunlop Volleys?!

I’m also very grateful for the advice I received beforehand to hike in shorts with ankle gaiters because that’s all I needed. I also really appreciated the ventilation from this combination. I did see a few people with trousers that zip off into shorts, which are also a great clothing option. Because the trail is in such good condition, I only experienced an occasional brush with spinifex. You always felt like you could clearly see what was on the trail. In saying all this, I didn’t even see a single snake!

Giving the feet a break and celebrating the Bombers making the AFL finals! Photo: Ben Trewren

Clothing to wear on the trail

Clothing is something I ummed and ahhed about a lot as I felt there was a fine line between getting it right and wrong. Knowing that I have a pretty warm body, but also cautious of how bitterly cold Central Australian nights can be during the winter months, it was tough to call.

I hiked in shorts and a t-shirt that were lightweight, breathable, and also super durable. On my feet, I wore my trusted Wigwam Merino Socks to look after my feet (which they did 95% of the time).

I carried a fleece sweater (which was all I needed when temperatures dropped) and a spare t-shirt to change into. At the start I had a pair of long compression tights and a down jacket, however, once I realised that overnight temperatures weren’t that cold for me, I left my jacket in a food box.

I found the compression tights fantastic to wear upon arriving at camp. Especially as they gave me the peace of mind that they would hold my legs together when I seriously doubted they would on their own.

At my halfway food box at Ellery Creek, I included a second change of clothes. I also threw fresh undies and socks into every food box (thanks, Forrest Gump) and included a fresh t-shirt for my day off at Ormiston Gorge.

On top of Brinkley Bluff. Photo: Ben Trewren

Doing laundry

I carried all my clothes in a Scrubba Wash Dry Bag because it has a range of advantages. It easily holds everything I wear, keeps out dust and moisture and has a valve for expelling air for packing. Most beneficial, however, is that when I needed to wash my clothes it did a fantastic job of breaking down the gunk without wasting too much precious water.

Don’t forget to also take along a clothesline to dry your clothes on after giving them a good scrub.

Washing day on the trail. Photo: Ben Trewren

Sleeping gear for Larapinta

When it came to sleeping, I trusted my Sea to Summit Basecamp II Bag and Thermolite Reactor Extreme Liner to get the job done, so I slept in very little, sometimes nothing which gave the skin a chance to just take it easy and breathe. Very happy with this plan of attack.

Shelter

In order to save weight and knowing I had spent over 300 nights in a swag before, I decided on a bivvy bag as my shelter. I knew that many of the trailheads already had platforms established, with shelter options available, and that packing my bivvy only required ‘stuffing’ – so I was pretty confident with my choice.

The usual setup at camp. Photo: Ben Trewren

Should you bring a tent?

Overall, I was happy and unphased with this decision until getting to Ormiston Gorge where I had thrown my 1-man Zempire Atom tent into my food box so that I had some ‘sense of security’ for leaving my gear unattended during my day off as well as when I would head to summit Mount Sonder a few days later from Redbank Gorge.

Upon picking my tent up and using it, I realised the peace of mind it gave me compared to my bivvy. At night, I could go to bed and zip up the inner and automatically my fears of what ‘may’ happen decreased. I felt much more comfortable to put a podcast in my ears because I didn’t feel the need to hear what was happening around me. I also didn’t stress about pesky mice getting into my gear as much.

In hindsight, I’m still undecided whether I would opt to carry the extra weight and spend the extra time pitching and packing up the tent for the entire journey. But I certainly appreciated ending the trip with the comfort of the tent.

Enjoying the view of Mount Sonder from the tent. Photo: Ben Trewren

Additional gear Packing Tips

Toiletries

Lip Balm and Moisturiser are worth throwing into your toiletries because the dry air will wreak havoc on your skin.

Tea Tree Oil helps manage the funky smells and germs coming from your feet.

Hand Sanitiser is definitely worth it because water is scarce, plus you need to stay on top of your hygiene.

Wilderness Wash and Wipes are a must because they’re bio-degradable and soft on the environment and they give you an opportunity to wash  – either yourself, your dishes or clothes.

Tools and accessories

Overcome the fear of the stigma, and grab yourself a set of hiking poles. They’ll improve your balance, take the strain off your legs, provide support and at the worst, protect you against a raging animal.

Small tweezers/Splinter Probes are fantastic for dealing with endless prickles and if needed, draining blisters.

Carry a

Making the most of the sun and charging the batteries. Photo: Ben Trewren

Hydration Gear

Nuun Active tablets as they’re low in sugar and carbohydrates and are available in a range of fruity flavours.

Comfort gear

Throw in a packable daypack for when you reach Redbank Gorge. You won’t need to carry a full pack up Mount Sonder, just the essentials.

Have some foam to sit on. The comfort is really appreciated by your bum and it offers fantastic protection against the prickles. I personally loved the Thermarest Z-Seat.

Sitting at the top of Serpentine Gorge at the end of section 7. Photo: Ben Trewren

Where to go from here?

In the second part of my Larapinta series, I talk about what to expect on the trail – water sources, facilities, camps, phone reception, hazards and leaving no trace on the track.

Are you prepping for a big hike like Larapinta? What do you think is the most challenging part? 

The post Hiking Larapinta Part 1: Preparation appeared first on Snowys Blog.

[olga-eulalia]

Trying to write S1 SilverFlint like, Who are these people? What’s going on? Warnings: Non-native speaker writing, crack light, mature content, light corporal punishment, unbetaed, unfinished.

Notes: Reference gifset here.

Long after sundown, Flint made his way below decks and towards the galley where he found his new cook bent over some papers, reading by the dim light of a lantern. A closer investigation seemed in order. Distrust was, after all, not misplaced here.

"Mr. Silver," he said gruffly, startling the man right out of his studies. As the hour was already late, he then lowered his voice. "How are things? Managing to stay out of trouble, I hope?"

"Well,” Silver said, turning around, hands gripping the table’s edge, “it does seem considerably easier now that Randall has taken on the bulk of responsibility."

Flint stepped to his side. He lifted one of the papers. As far as he could tell, it was nothing but a recipe for the preparation of some gelatinous marine creature. Well may it serve them to be prepared for these eventualities, but for pity’s sake, may fortune well keep them from such fate. He put it back down among two leather-bound tomes and a multitude of loose sheets and, looking over the chaos with rising unease, worried the fingers of his left hand with his thumb.

A feather-light weight came to rest on his shoulder, ran down the length of his upper arm, and cupped his elbow with a reassuring squeeze.

It had been years, if not decades, since any of the members of his crew had dared to touch him in such a familiar manner. Flint stilled at the sensation, noticing how his heartbeat tottered about. He raised his head and looked into Silver’s face. No defense training had ever really prepared him for gentleness.

"Is there something I can do for you, captain?" Silver asked, tone comforting and smooth. His expression was amiable and relaxed. Flint could even see the pearly sheen of his front teeth between his parted lips. Nonetheless, the hazy notion that Silver was only biding his time, waiting for his opposite to make the first damning blunder, persisted.

"A nightcap, perhaps?" Silver continued, moving in too close, his body too warm, making the blood rush and pound near the surface of Flint's skin. "Or something else?"

As luck would have it, novice Silver, who had seen him cave in a man’s face with a six-pound cannonball, who had been there when he'd parted another man from his leg with a meat cleaver, had no idea that it wasn’t customary to threaten the men on this ship with bodily harm whenever they stepped out of line. So Flint could reach forward and fist Silver's hair while still keeping his credibility as captain more or less intact.

The thick crop of dark locks pulled taut between his fingers. Silver’s eyes turned glassy and the softest uhh escaped on his breath. In that moment, Flint could see himself, a famished beggar, sliding his tongue over the base of Silver's bared throat, then closing his mouth over the appealing shape of Silver's lips and putting his tongue there too. And he balked.

"That'll be all, Mr. Silver. Thank you." He relinquished his grip.

Flint stared into the darkness of night. With fingers interlocked behind his head, he was lying on his cot, letting his mind wander in a manner that was neither seemly nor, indeed, conducive to much-needed rest. A frown puckered his features. “Shit,” he muttered to himself.

"It appears you have finally discovered the purpose of the bay leaf," he said to his audience at large. The hubbub around the hearth at lunchtime was greater than he’d come to anticipate. The two cooks were present, but also two of the riggers, one of the gunners, and Joshua.

Silver, with his sleeves rolled up, was wiping his hands dry on a white apron that pinched his midriff like a bodice, splayed fingers dragging down the entire length of it. "I'll take that as a compliment, captain." He beamed.

Somehow, that little exchange had drawn the entire group’s undivided attention and the chatter had quieted down to nil. Randall, whose hair was as frazzled as the look in his eyes, regarded the scene with an eagerness that bordered on lechery.

"As you were, if you please." Flint nodded curtly and, before his discomfort could become any more obvious, left them to their gossip.

Late afternoon was spent absorbed in the perusal of maps and the taking of notes. A flimsy distraction, as the big event moved inexorably closer and the tingle of excitement settled in his bones. But one thing led to another, and soon he found himself leafing through one of his books. There was a passage in the account of the sea battle at B-- that felt somehow incomplete, beckoning him to go over the maneuvers in his mind and try to piece a coherent strategy together. A knock on his cabin door snipped his concentration. He ran a hand over his face.

"Yes?"

Clatter outside. Then Silver poked his head into the room. "May I?"

He entered, serving three dishes at once. Balancing the third on his bare forearm, he waited for Flint to roll up the charts before he gingerly arranged one after the other on the desktop. The first two bowls contained supper. Which was rather considerate, Flint thought, as time had slipped him by and he’d missed the communal meal.

"What's this, then?" He indicated the last, linen-covered dish.

With a flourish, Silver revealed it to be a sponge cake garnished with some type of fruit, possibly apple, whose surface had been baked to a fine copper colour.

Flint looked at Silver’s expectant face sharply. "I'm sure you were familiarized with our customs. Equal shares for everybody. I trust you can manage to make forty-three portions out of that cake?"

“I’ll see what I can do, captain,” Silver said, eyes a blazing blue, as he removed himself and the offending dessert from Flint’s presence.

Supper turned out to be warmed-up lunch, a thick potato soup that yielded the odd piece of meat, hearty in flavour. As it definitely carried more spice this time around, Flint poured himself a good measure of rum which he diluted with water. But one had to count one’s blessings, he mused, it wasn’t the eternal fish soup. And if this whole endeavour to capture the Spanish treasure galleon did fail, Silver, at least, would make a not completely useless husband to someone, someday.

He gaged the hour by looking at the moon outside his cabin window and took the mint leaf out of his mouth. It was almost time for his round on the main deck. He cleared the desk to some extent in preparation for next day and was busy stowing away his cartographic instruments when Silver reappeared, wielding the pewter once more. What measly amount of benign mood had accumulated throughout supper quickly evaporated at the sight of him striding into the room and coming around the desk, as though he’d been given permission.

A reprimand ready on his tongue, Flint saw to his added dismay that a very large, succulent portion of the cake still remained sitting in the middle of the plate, sweating butter.

"You didn't specify the size of it," Silver said, leaning his weight against the desk. He smelled of pepper and burnt sugar, a confusing combination.

In truth, the entire situation seemed to be a challenge specifically concocted to test Flint’s patience. He watched, on edge, as Silver, holding his gaze with brutal fervor, picked up the cake, put more than half of it in his mouth and took such a massive bite that he had to use his fingers to keep everything stuffed inside his bulging cheek. What remained of the slice he held out as an offering.

Flint bristled with irritation. Though he could see himself gradually accepting it at his mouth in order to take his share, could perhaps even see himself abandoning his seat and planting a kiss on disobedient Silver, making him cough and sputter, he’d long since decided that harbouring one fantastical idea and pursuing it, often to his detriment, was quite enough.

“I believe I expressly did,” Flint said, rising from his chair to stare Silver down. “I ought to have you flogged for this.”

Silver seemed unfazed. His thumb was chasing stray crumbs across his chin and pushing them between his lips, as he chewed and swallowed with some difficulty. Eventually, he licked the corner of his mouth, a glistening slide of pink. “How many?”

“What?”

“Strokes. How many?”

Flint felt like he’d taken a punch to the throat. His next words grated. “For a first-time offender such as yourself? Five are protocol.”

“You would administer the punishment yourself?” Unwavering, Silver stared back at him. Some of his breaths were audible, chest rising and falling like heavy swell.

An imaginary bite of the cake ground to mush between Flint’s back teeth. “I’d make sure you learned your lesson.”

“And I am to wear the apron while you do it, yes?” Silver blinked slowly up at him. “While you teach me?” His voice seemed to lower during that last inquiry. His hands were already moving to unbutton his pants.

Distantly aware that he was doing it, Flint nodded. Though, as far as he knew, a removal of clothes was not mandatory. And, as far as he knew, corporal punishment was not something to be negotiated with the offender in the first place. Besides, as the practice had been abandoned on his pirate ship, there weren’t any of the tools needed for such a chastisement in his vicinity. No stick, no rod. Nothing but his own two hands. Sweat broke out along his hairline. Everything was happening too quickly, but he couldn’t let Silver call his bluff now.

At his side, Silver had arranged himself across the desk. He’d pulled down his pants to mid-thigh, spread his legs, and was resting on one forearm, but kept fumbling with the back of his shirt and tugging at his apron. He was fidgeting a surprising amount.

“Am I going to have to tie you down,” Flint said, transfixed by the display of restlessness, “or are you going to keep still?”

“I-” Silver yelped delicately. The first blow had landed.

Regretting that he’d squandered the first slap so swiftly, Flint reined himself in and promised himself to take a more measured approach, even as his thoughts were whirling out of control like a spinning top. A crimson handprint bloomed on Silver’s otherwise unblemished backside, skin stunningly responsive there. Flint repeated the motion two more times, mind rotating in a void of sense all the while, as he tried to think of the many reasons why Silver deserved this treatment, tried to think of all the reasons why this shouldn't be happening, tried to think about what Silver expected to be getting out of this in the long run, the big picture, he tried to think.

The hard smack of his palm moved Silver across the desk, buttocks jiggling and curls bouncing. The flesh looked red and burning hot. There was only one more stroke left to deliver, Flint realized.

He felt dizzy. Need was thrumming through him, but kept being denied. He was disintegrating as yet another moment passed without him sating it. But he’d never been a man to abuse his power, had only ever used the authority of his position as captain to command respect and, at worst, intimidate. He’d never expected to be goaded into this.

“Please, captain,” Silver said, voice pressed, white knuckles fused with the edge of the desk, “make it count.”

Flint breathed in and brought down his hand. It was steady.

[shannrussell-blog1]

Considered to be among the best hiking trails in the world, the Larapinta Trail is as enormously challenging as it is unimaginably beautiful. Having worked in Central Australia for two years, I’d felt that I’d come to appreciate the cultural significance, design of the landscape and the brutality of the elements – but the Larapinta Trail was something else.

Hiking the 12 section, 271 kilometres of the Larapinta Trail over 14 days had long been a dream, but I’d also never believed in its reality. I’m a 27-year-old fella from Adelaide who craves the adrenalin of adventure but wishes the physical challenge didn’t have to accompany it.

Until hiking the Larapinta, I’d never trekked longer than 8 days consecutively. The longest solo trip I’d undertaken was only 3 days. But here I am, now back in Adelaide after an unreal adventure and I’d recommend it to anyone.

The view of Mount Sonder at sunrise. Photo: Ben Trewren

Choosing your itinerary

I chose to hike the trail East to West (Alice Springs to Mount Sonder) for a culmination of reasons:

This is the direction in which the trail was designed to be hiked.

You hike what’s considered the least interesting scenery first, but you don’t really know it as you don’t have anything to compare it with.

While the sections are longer at the beginning in terms of kilometres, I appreciated the relative flatness of starting with section 1 and 2. This allowed me some time for my body to adjust to the hot and dry climate, to my pack and to get on top of my hydration.

I was keen to finish on a high by climbing Mount Sonder as my last adventure on the trail. Better still, I wanted to enjoy the view of Mount Sonder as I approached.

The sun would be on my back instead of my face in the morning (I planned to start early and aimed to finish hiking early afternoon).

I wanted to make the most of the kiosk and showers at Ormiston Gorge between sections 9 and 10.

I had a clear timeframe, so I could confidently organise a pickup time from Redbank Gorge.

Getting started early on the long days to avoid the afternoon sun. Photo: Ben Trewren

When to Go

I was on the trail for the last week of August and the first week of September. The weather was incredibly kind to me with a daily average of 26°C and only two days above 30°C. This was such a relief as I was tormented with temperatures in the mid 30°C the week before, and similar forecasts the week after I completed the trail. Overnight was also quite mild. I never needed more than a fleece jumper and found sleeping pretty easy.

It was also a very quiet time. In total, I saw around 50 people on the trail and camped with no more than 5 people at a time. Much different to the stories from the peak period through June and July. Overall, the weather will be the biggest consideration for you when deciding to hit the trail. I was really happy with my time of year – not too hot during the day and no frostbite to my key body parts overnight.

I had clear bright blue skies every day whilst on the trail.  Photo: Ben Trewren

Duration of the trail

Having allocated myself 14 days on the trail, my navigation plan was constantly changing in the lead-up. However, I was really happy with my final decision. Hiking for 13 days and taking the opportunity for a rest day on Day 11 at Ormiston Gorge.

In a nutshell, I took a day to hike each of sections 1-8. I then split 9 in half over two days, before taking a rest day. Then 10 and half of 11 in a day, the second half of 11 the following day and then 12 on the final day. While on my day off, I tackled the Ormiston Pound Walk.

Logbooks were provided by NT Parks and Wildlife at every trailhead. Photo: Ben Trewren. 

Flights & Accommodation

I booked my flights to Alice Springs with Qantas using my Frequent Flyer points. It’s a 2-hour flight and there’s one flight a day from Adelaide to Alice Springs that usually arrives around 1 pm. And there’s another from Alice Springs to Adelaide which usually departs around 2 pm. I think it’s a very similar arrangement from other major cities.

I was fortunate to have friends who live in Alice Springs who generously picked me up and dropped me off at the airport, and gave me a place to stay. However, if you’re not as lucky as me, you can catch a shuttle for around $15 (cash) into Alice Springs Town Centre. Or a Taxi is anywhere between $30-$50 depending on your location.

Alice Springs has a range of accommodation like hostels, motels, and hotels which are all relatively affordable for what’s offered. When looking for accommodation, research pricing and then try and pick one a location close to the other services you’ll need (supermarkets, outdoor store, Visitor Information Centre, etc.).

Arriving in Alice Springs. Photo: Ben Trewren

How long does it take to complete?

One of the most adventurous things about the Larapinta Trail is that you can flexibly and safely choose your own adventure. I met some people aiming to complete the trail in 9 days, whereas I met others on their 20th day. It really does come down to how you want to tackle the challenge. I decided based on how much walking I thought I could complete each day (around 18-20kms), access to water and that I only had 2 weeks leave available.

Upon completing the Larapinta Trail, my longest day was 31.3kms through Section 6. My shortest day was 13.5kms through Section 7.

Try to avoid focusing on the km’s marked on the trail signs as they’re frequently incorrect (due to trail maintenance, changes, etc.). For the lightweight hikers – you can save a bit of weight by allocating maps to your food drop boxes.

Often, trailheads provided as much information as the maps did… Photo: Ben Trewren

Navigation

While I don’t recommend them because they lack map detail and the information (especially trail data) is frequently incorrect, as they’re currently the only option, it’s worthwhile getting your hands on the NT Parks and Wildlife map set available here. I got word on the trail that Larapinta Trail Trek Support (LTTS) are looking to create their own maps with far greater map detail. They also want to include more interactive information on the flora, fauna, history, cultural heritage, etc., which will be a fantastic improvement.

In saying all this, the trail is incredibly well marked with the familiar blue arrows on the white signs. Because of the abundance of signage, you often wonder whether there is a need for maps or a GPS.

Just follow the blue arrows… Photo: Ben Trewren

Food Drops & Trail Support

I paid LTTS for the End to End Solo Package and couldn’t be happier with my decision. Included in the package are 3 food drops at Standley Chasm, Ellery Creek and Ormiston Gorge along with box collection after I’d passed through (allowing me to unload gear if need be).

The package also included transfer back to Alice Springs from Redbank Gorge at the end of my walk, stove fuel provisions (as it can’t be transported on a plane), organisation of the food box room keys, PLB and SPOT hire and support and advice towards my navigation plans.

I highly recommend Zac and his team from LTTS to support you when undertaking the Larapinta Trail – they offer a huge amount of support for a range of requests.

My food boxes all packed and ready to give to LTTS before the start of my trek. Photo: Ben Trewren

Other gear to leave in your food boxes

Aside from food, your food boxes are a fantastic place for a change of clothes, batteries, toiletries and extra rewards like bottles of Gatorade.

They’re also fantastic for dumping gear you no longer needed on the trail (like my down jacket), no longer wanted (books that I didn’t have the energy to read) or became unusable (certain pairs of underwear).

Put an obvious rubbish bag in your Ellery Creek box. Unlike Standley Chasm and Ormiston Gorge, there are no bins and LTTS will need to take your rubbish for you. Double layer it if necessary to prevent the smell penetrating everything else in your box.

While LTTS help organise the pickup and return of your food box room key, you need to book it yourself. It’s easy enough by just calling Alice Springs Tourism Centre and paying your $50 deposit plus $10 fee over the phone. However, be mindful that the keys can book out (especially in peak periods) and then you need to rely on others. So for peace of mind, get in early on this one.

Picking up my food box at Ormiston Gorge. Photo: Ben Trewren

Food I took for the trek

I kept my menu varied and easy as I didn’t want to be consumed with ‘cooking’ along with my hike.

Here are some of the options I carried:

Breakfast – Muesli with Powdered Milk & Fruit Puree

Snacks – Lollies, Dried Fruit, Shapes, M&Ms, Dehydrated Fruit Straps

Lunch – Crackers, Tuna, Metwurst, Peanut Butter, Cheese

Dinner – Soup Powder, Dehydrated Meals

Looking back I would probably pack more salty snack options to assist with rehydration. For me, this would’ve looked like more soup powder, salty nuts and any other savoury snacks.

Some tips for the dehydrated meals:

Add a bit of extra water to assist with an alternative way of rehydrating.

Wait 20 minutes rather than 10 minutes for the food to rehydrate for better flavour and texture.

Eat straight from the bag (there’s a slit halfway down the pack to rip across and make it easy to eat from) so there’s no washing up.

I personally found the Back Country 1 serve sizes fine for my appetite, but recognise that I’m not a big eater.

Cottage Pie they reckon! One of my favourite rehydrated meals on the trip Photo: Ben Trewren

What kind of food is available at the Kiosk?

The usual cold drinks, ice-creams and chocolate bars are available at both kiosks. But it’s the range of homemade and fresh options that I really craved – especially when spending 14 days on a hiking trail.

At Standley Chasm, I had the Lasagna ($18) which came with three generous serves of salad. They’re also open for dinner Thursday to Saturday. I came through on a Saturday so I made the most of the fresh food and had a Steak with a massive bowl of steamed veggies for dinner.

Upon arriving at Ormiston Gorge, I tucked into their Big Breakfast ($16), while also enjoying their Salad ($10) and Steak Sandwich ($10) over the course of my stay. They also do a ripper of an Iced Coffee and the cakes are worth every cent. They were also very generous to package up a Lamb and Rice ($10) for me to reheat at dinner time.

Breakfast at Ormiston Gorge Kiosk. So good. Photo: Ben Trewren

Boots & Gaiters

The important thing to know about the Larapinta Trail is that there are rocks, rocks, rocks and more rocks. This is why you need boots that offer support. The second important thing to know is that the trail conditions exceeded my expectations. Not once did I feel like the trail wasn’t ‘clear’ to hike through so it wasn’t necessary to have epic amounts of ‘protection’.

I hiked in a pair of pretty solid Scarpa Kailash GTX boots. Upon reflection, I would’ve opted for a lighter and more breathable pair of boots that still offered support. Most importantly, make sure your soles are in good nick and are durable enough to handle the rocky terrain. It’s not uncommon to hear of people’s boots disintegrating mid-trail because they lacked quality or they had been overused prior to starting. I saw one lady wearing Dunlop Volleys?!

I’m also very grateful for the advice I received beforehand to hike in shorts with ankle gaiters because that’s all I needed. I also really appreciated the ventilation from this combination. I did see a few people with trousers that zip off into shorts, which are also a great clothing option. Because the trail is in such good condition, I only experienced an occasional brush with spinifex. You always felt like you could clearly see what was on the trail. In saying all this, I didn’t even see a single snake!

Giving the feet a break and celebrating the Bombers making the AFL finals! Photo: Ben Trewren

Clothing to wear on the trail

Clothing is something I ummed and ahhed about a lot as I felt there was a fine line between getting it right and wrong. Knowing that I have a pretty warm body, but also cautious of how bitterly cold Central Australian nights can be during the winter months, it was tough to call.

I hiked in shorts and a t-shirt that were lightweight, breathable, and also super durable. On my feet, I wore my trusted Wigwam Merino Socks to look after my feet (which they did 95% of the time).

I carried a fleece sweater (which was all I needed when temperatures dropped) and a spare t-shirt to change into. At the start I had a pair of long compression tights and a down jacket, however, once I realised that overnight temperatures weren’t that cold for me, I left my jacket in a food box.

I found the compression tights fantastic to wear upon arriving at camp. Especially as they gave me the peace of mind that they would hold my legs together when I seriously doubted they would on their own.

At my halfway food box at Ellery Creek, I included a second change of clothes. I also threw fresh undies and socks into every food box (thanks, Forrest Gump) and included a fresh t-shirt for my day off at Ormiston Gorge.

On top of Brinkley Bluff. Photo: Ben Trewren

Doing laundry

I carried all my clothes in a Scrubba Wash Dry Bag because it has a range of advantages. It easily holds everything I wear, keeps out dust and moisture and has a valve for expelling air for packing. Most beneficial, however, is that when I needed to wash my clothes it did a fantastic job of breaking down the gunk without wasting too much precious water.

Don’t forget to also take along a clothesline to dry your clothes on after giving them a good scrub.

Washing day on the trail. Photo: Ben Trewren

Sleeping gear for Larapinta

When it came to sleeping, I trusted my Sea to Summit Basecamp II Bag and Thermolite Reactor Extreme Liner to get the job done, so I slept in very little, sometimes nothing which gave the skin a chance to just take it easy and breathe. Very happy with this plan of attack.

Shelter

In order to save weight and knowing I had spent over 300 nights in a swag before, I decided on a bivvy bag as my shelter. I knew that many of the trailheads already had platforms established, with shelter options available, and that packing my bivvy only required ‘stuffing’ – so I was pretty confident with my choice.

The usual setup at camp. Photo: Ben Trewren

Should you bring a tent?

Overall, I was happy and unphased with this decision until getting to Ormiston Gorge where I had thrown my 1-man Zempire Atom tent into my food box so that I had some ‘sense of security’ for leaving my gear unattended during my day off as well as when I would head to summit Mount Sonder a few days later from Redbank Gorge.

Upon picking my tent up and using it, I realised the peace of mind it gave me compared to my bivvy. At night, I could go to bed and zip up the inner and automatically my fears of what ‘may’ happen decreased. I felt much more comfortable to put a podcast in my ears because I didn’t feel the need to hear what was happening around me. I also didn’t stress about pesky mice getting into my gear as much.

In hindsight, I’m still undecided whether I would opt to carry the extra weight and spend the extra time pitching and packing up the tent for the entire journey. But I certainly appreciated ending the trip with the comfort of the tent.

Enjoying the view of Mount Sonder from the tent. Photo: Ben Trewren

Additional gear Packing Tips

Toiletries

Lip Balm and Moisturiser are worth throwing into your toiletries because the dry air will wreak havoc on your skin.

Tea Tree Oil helps manage the funky smells and germs coming from your feet.

Hand Sanitiser is definitely worth it because water is scarce, plus you need to stay on top of your hygiene.

Wilderness Wash and Wipes are a must because they’re bio-degradable and soft on the environment and they give you an opportunity to wash  – either yourself, your dishes or clothes.

Tools and accessories

Overcome the fear of the stigma, and grab yourself a set of hiking poles. They’ll improve your balance, take the strain off your legs, provide support and at the worst, protect you against a raging animal.

Small tweezers/Splinter Probes are fantastic for dealing with endless prickles and if needed, draining blisters.

Carry a

Making the most of the sun and charging the batteries. Photo: Ben Trewren

Hydration Gear

Nuun Active tablets as they’re low in sugar and carbohydrates and are available in a range of fruity flavours.

Comfort gear

Throw in a packable daypack for when you reach Redbank Gorge. You won’t need to carry a full pack up Mount Sonder, just the essentials.

Have some foam to sit on. The comfort is really appreciated by your bum and it offers fantastic protection against the prickles. I personally loved the Thermarest Z-Seat.

Sitting at the top of Serpentine Gorge at the end of section 7. Photo: Ben Trewren

Where to go from here?

In the second part of my Larapinta series, I talk about what to expect on the trail – water sources, facilities, camps, phone reception, hazards and leaving no trace on the track.

Are you prepping for a big hike like Larapinta? What do you think is the most challenging part? 

The post Hiking Larapinta Part 1: Preparation appeared first on Snowys Blog.