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Clancy pulled back the woven hemp, striding unannounced into The Torchbearers tent. An exception to the rule that the rest of the Banditos followed closely.
“Torch.”
Josh’s attention was immediately caught. His head turned sharply towards where his name had come from. “Yes?”
He had been sitting on the ground bent over his flat stool, compass to his left and tracer to his right. Clancy took quick note of his map, a map of the camp. Every tent was marked out in washable coal, every tree and rock etched in with permanent ink. He could see the clear outline of the central hearthfire.
“I think I have a solution to our problem.” Clancy stated with sincerity.
The Torchbearer sniffed a dry laugh. “You'll have to tell me which one you solved, we have a lot.”
Clancy took that as his cue to sit beside The Torchbearer, he craned his neck to get a better look of the leaders outlines.
“Our tent problem.” He clarified, gesturing to the map. “We have young families in tents together, which saves space. But our numbers are growing too rapidly, and we can't expand outward.”
He traced a finger around where the forest edge was traced into the paper.
“But we have anyone sixteen and older allotted their own tents. It's a waste of space.”
The Torchbearer shook his head. “You cannot call the value of privacy a waste of space. People simply will not give up their individual spaces.”
“They would if they had something else to talk about.” Clancy suggested enticingly.
Torch looked back at him skeptically. “Continue.”
“We have the food issue in the winter, and the space issue year-round.” Clancy started, still not getting to the meat of his point.
“What I'm saying is, if we put a tent, a large one, close to the hearthfire, we could cook inside of it.”
“So add another larger tent into the area where we have the least amount of room?” The Torchbearer scoffed. “Genius, Clancy. Why didn't I think of that?”
“Let me speak.” Clancy laughed and dipped his fingers into the water cup next to the map. With one swipe he cleared the charcoal from around the hearthfire.
“If we put a dining area here…” he elongated his words as he drew a crude rectangle where his tent would go. “Your people would have less reason to spend time in their tents. Truly, they would only be sleeping places.”
“And once the Banditos are talking about the big new tent, with the responsibility of food taken off of the individual, they will be a multitude more susceptible to the suggestion of sharing a tent.”
Torch’s eyebrows furrowed as he kept his gaze trained to the map, imagining Clancy's suggestion.
“We already cook in large groups,” he countered.
He was just testing him, Clancy had to remind himself. Simply trying to poke holes in his plan to make sure it was truly fleshed out.
“If we standardize the meals, and have people with dedicated food jobs, we can free even more people up for hunting parties. We could redistribute our numbers, dedicate more Banditos for the missions into the village.”
Torch traced the charcoal outline of his drawings lightly with his thumb. Clancy didn't speak. Torch always needed time to process things. He was aware of the stakes, one wrong move and half the camp is dead, the cause is over and the Bishops win. Every decision required careful consideration.
“I didn't think of this before.” The leader said quietly, still not looking at clancy.
“You're only one man.” Clancy consoled. “Leadership is a lot.”
Torch sighed. “You're good at it.”
“I was trained from birth, had access to a library of documents no one else on the continent had. It doesn't come naturally to me like it does with you.”
He placed his palm on The Torchbearers shoulder, feeling the defined muscle lining his neck.
“It seems pretty natural to me.” Torch said nothing about the new touch.
Clancy hummed, “trust me, I wouldn't be able to voice this plan to anyone but you. You know your people.” His other hand found its way to Torch's other shoulder, and he began rubbing his thumbs in deep, slow circles.
“Clancy.” The Torchbearer warned, vice somewhere between warning and want. Yet his body relaxed, and his head dropped backwards, eyelids hanging lazily open as he looked pathetically up at Clancy.
“Yes, Torch?” He held the eye contact, looking straight at The Torchbearer daringly.
Torch’s hand reached out, slowly, carefully. He caught one of Clancy's golden curls between his thumb and forefinger. Both of their breathing deepened as he twirled the lock between the fingers, head deep in thought.
“Youll have to shave this soon.”