The afternoon light was fading as they ran through the underbrush, golden rays shooting through the thick branches to light up the path, the fog already rolling across the distant mountains. His legs ached, unused to the long hours of running they'd been doing lately, and his breath came in hitches. Finally, he spoke up, despite the fact it was obvious the others felt the same, but wouldn't speak up out of pride, and a masculine air they always kept up, even when no one was around to see it. "Maybe we should call it."
He slowed to a trot, hands on his hips; night was coming, and it wasn't safe to be out, a chilly breeze already blowing, the howls of creatures they would rather not meet echoing from the heart of the forest. Ahead, the air shimmered like heat waves from a fire, the tell tale signs of a camping area. There was a hum in the air, like a distant song you have remembered from the past.
"I'm all for it...the heat is making me all icky," Prompto said, fanning himself. His tank clung to his body, sweat beaded on his forehead. Noct nodded, a bit annoyed Prompto had made this all about him, but it was too hot to argue, and night was coming fast, the light fading from gold to amber in the sky.
"There's a campground ahead," Gladio grunted, rubbing his shoulder: he'd gotten hit during a minor skirmish with some wolves, nursing a shoulder only just recently popped back into the joint by Noct, angering easily with nerves dangling on the edge. "We can make camp for the night, get some grub."
"I guess it'll have to do," Prompto said, dejected. He'd been looking forward to a hotel room, a hot shower, and a Chocobo feather bed, and hadn't been shy about dropping hints about it all day, mentioning how wonderful the beds at hotels were at every opportunity, and pretending to be waving away stench from the other four's sweat.
But it was all for nothing; the day had lagged on as they ran along the cliffs trying to find some crystals a patron of the last diner had requested, not finding them, getting into twenty minor skirmishes, and Prompto promptly running out of bullets right as a hoard of imps had ambushed them. It hadn't been the best day, and everyone just wanted to go to bed.
"Complaining isn't helping right now, Prompto," Ignis said tiredly, shoving his glasses up his sweaty nose with a wearied hand, fingers shaking slightly. He hadn't been battered about as badly as the others, but he was just as tired, wrists aching from swinging the lance strapped to his back so many times, hard blows working his muscles to the max. He still had to make the evening meal, while they all relaxed and chatted. If anyone had a right to complain, it was him.
Gladio didn't say anything, working his arm in short circles, his normally placid expression unable to mask the small winces creeping across his face as the bones rubbed together. Out of all of them, Gladio was the toughest, and would've denied pain with a cut jugular. He took his job as the King's Guard seriously, nothing stopping his vows, not even dislocated joints.
It took a few minutes for them to reach the plateau, blue runes traced across the rock face glowing faintly. Rumors had long flown about the true nature of the camping spaces scattered across the world, everything from aliens to scientific meddling to aid imperial troops, but no one really knew the truth. The only thing that mattered about them was how much they aided hikers and explorers. Creatures didn't bother you on them, and everyone confessed to sleeping more peacefully than they had in years.
That was all they needed to hear.
Prompto suddenly found the strength to run ahead, racing up the slopped rock at a long legged gait, leaving the others far behind. He didn't bother to bring the tent with him, however, Gladio shouldering the bulky bundle on his good shoulder, Noct bearing the weight of the food bags. Not even Ignis was completely empty handed, as he lugged the fire starter kits in a cloth sack. Everything was packed securely, in containers that were easy to toss aside during a sudden skirmish without damaging the tents inside.
Out in the wild, a sturdy tent was life or death, when it came down to cold and rain.
"Come on you guys, it's getting dark," Prompto called, sitting crossed legged in the center of the rock, looking annoyed at them for being slower than him. Gladio's reply was to toss the tent at him as he struggled up the rock, his knees beginning to lock up. The bundle knocked Prompto onto his back, his cry an overreaction that made Noct chuckle.
"Try to help, huh? Everyone else pulls their weight," he said, Prompto shooting him a look as he struggled out from under the tent's bulk. Noct didn't even try to help, setting up the portable grill and tables, prepping for whatever new meal Ignis had concocted during their travels. Gladio had picked up a new type of mushroom on the mountainside, Ignis declaring it was perfect for a fish recipe he'd wanted to try.
Although they were often teased for how Ignis did all the cooking for the group, becoming their literal den mother, he knew his way around a sauce pan.
The sun lowered into the sky, shadows running across the forest floor as they finally finished setting up the tents and chairs around the fire pit, striking wood from the stones edges to make a roaring fire. Another thing highly gossiped about was the firewood, as every stone seemed mysteriously stocked with enough random logs to make a single fire, good for the single night most people stayed. Ignis had been cooking for awhile, the sweet scents of broiling fish and oiled mushrooms filling the air, his skilled hands quickly tossing in spices and chopped vegetables from the food bag.
"It's getting dark!" Prompto declared, tipping his chair back on two legs, hanging in the air for a moment,arms in the air, before all four legs slammed into the ground, pitching him forwards, a grin on his face.
"...and?" Gladio asked, still not looking up from his book. He'd been delving into Japanese fight techniques lately, devouring books on Bushido and samurai defenses. He was currently reading The Art of War, and barely looked up from it unless a sudden fight or hot meal forced him to. The book wasn't even in English, so Noct often wondered when Gladio had taken Japanese courses, or whether it was a required thing for the King's guard.
"Ghost stories, bruh!" Prompto declared, rubbing his hands together giddily. Behind him, Ignis blinked from his place behind the grill, but said nothing.
Gladio rolled his eyes; Noct didn't know what exactly to do, voice questioning. "Uh... ghost stories?"
"Uh, yeah!" Prompto said, in a tone that was far to excited for that late at night, after the hard day they'd had.
The twelve potions he'd had for battle wounds probably hadn't helped... everyone knew the healing elixirs were chock full of sugar and caffeine.
"Ghosts don't exist," Ignis said, but slightly under his breath to not offend Prompto too badly.
Noct heard, and stifled a grin in a fake cough: Prompto got over zelous about the smallest things sometimes, like the afternoon he spent three hours singing the Chocobo jingle from the radio commercials. The whole group kept "accidentally" tripping him that day, saying nothing about it when he fell over yet another out stretched foot while racing along the forest paths.
"I heard a good one on the road," Prompto was saying, as Ignis fried up the now oiled fish, adding mushroom slices and pepper. The scent was mouth watering, but Prompto ignored it, off to the races with his new tale. "Cindy said it was totally legit, she heard it from a hunter."
Because everything Cindy says is obviously true, no doubt about it, Noct thought, sipping his water. Promtpo's not exactly subtle crush on Cindy was showing flamboyantly...
"Ah, a Hammerhead yarn?" Ignis cut in, serving the fish on camp plates with a side of sauce made from mushroom and wild herbs, the smell heavenly. Noct waited a grand total of four second before digging in. "They do seem to have a rich folk tale society going on there." His tone was lingering on sarcasm, but only just avoiding it.
As Promtpo began his story ("So, this hunter went into the tunnels one night, trying to find this cool ore thing..."), Gladio kept reading, Noct feigned interest, Ignis set up the sleeping rolls, and the night lowered onto the world around them.
In the distance, an owl hooted loudly, making Prompto jump slightly in his seat, eyes alight as his low grade horror tale ("...and the imps had torn a ton of people apart before him! He could barely escape!") blundered along.
It was a nice night, despite everything. A welcome reprieve from the hard battles of the day, and a reprieve from thoughts of the struggles in the coming days.