Delfig, Kazimir and Josef have more than a little trouble crossing the countryside to the north side of Dachau. They soon discover that it is impossible to avoid detection—the country is too thick with farmers, herders, laborers working on rock walls or woodcutters. But they soon discover that these villeins have little interest in them. What they don’t encounter is a patrol, or a gameskeeper, or anyone in authority at all.
But the ground is soggy from yesterday’s rain, and more than once they must leap a wall to find themselves up to their ankles in sodden ground. More than once they find they must edge around the mucky edges of a soft-soiled pond to reach ground which can again be walked on easily. Each time they poke into a forest, from which they can see a keep or a blockhouse a mile or so away, they find what with crossing gulleys or following gulleys, they seem to get turned around again and again, until they can reach the copse’s edge and regain their bearings.
At last the twilight comes, and they are still some goodly distance from their destination, uncertain how far. With the sun falls the temperature, which freshens following the summery day, turning cool, and finally quite brisk. In spite of having no intentions of starting a fire, it soon becomes apparent that without one, the group will freeze to death with damp feet and little clothing beyond a cloak to comfort them.
Has anyone means to light a fire?