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Bishop's Camp
A sturdy lean-to constructed of scorched metal sheets, a few charred timbers and a large piece of canvas now sat atop the foundation of the once handsome home. The materials had all been organized into what could be recycled and what could be sold or tossed for scraps. A small fire crackled near the shelter where clothes were drying or maybe a stew or piece of meat was cooking. A primitive and improvised shovel and handsome rifle lean against the shelter, nearby a fridge lay down like a trunk: storing the inhabitant's valuables.

Beside the 'camp' was the beginnings of a well on the mend, a deep hole that had been cleared of debris and all the filth paled out. Around it a sheet of steel forced into the ground in a circular shape, canvas covered it with a rock at each corner to prevent contamination.

Both the barn and coop are destroyed. Nothing but stony foundations remain beneath the rubble.

The tool shed is a barely recognizable pile that might have been attached to the barn.

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Working
Winter, 5th
6AM-11AM


Rising early only a few hours after getting to sleep Thomas started his work. He started by finding a post that was still strong enough to not give. With a sheet of metal bent around a thin pole - He'd improvised a crude shovel-- he dug a two foot hole for a hitching post. Tying a length of rope that was at about eight feet to the post. He cleared the ground of te icy shell and would tie his horse here to graze on the frozen shoots he could find. It didn't take much longer than an hour to accomplish this. He discarded his guns, his saddled bags and all his extra gear into his tiny shelter and covered his valuables with his sleeping furs. "Well, that's done let's see what I can get done today.." He would start with where the house once stood. So off with the cape, his sword's scabbard was replaced with a sturdy hatchet as he looted the remains of the burnt out home. He stacked usable timbers on the corner of the stone foundation, the ones he could not use, on the ground near by. He would pull all the nails and tacks from the wood he found, depositing them in his cooking pot for now. After some time of digging, separating usable materials from non usable he finally made a precious find. And old refrigerator!"Oh wow. This is perfect." he chimed. The small fridge was of a tough steel finish, it was unlikely it worked to cool things, but it was storage. He cleaned it out, finding nothing edible he tossed all the rotted foodstuffs into a heap away from his camp and saved all the containers. The nails finding themselves a new home in a foggy glass jar. He'd finally cleared the foundation and surrounding area of the home and organized everything. Scrap metal was in a pile, usable metal another. Like the wood. The fridge being his only real find.

He cleaned his pot and melted some clean snow in it for drinking, then more into which he added a handful of chucked, seasoned and dried meat. Setting it to a simmer and digging up some less than glamorous potatoes from the trashed fields he chopped and added them too for a rather primitive stew as the result. Feeding a potato to his horse he rested in his lean to, his wet clothing removed to dry near the fire as he changed into a rougher shirt and a dingy captain's coat. He'd sit, looking out at his land.