Four of those five miles consisted of the weeds and grass that both brothers christened with various names, all words of profanity in their colorful language.
They did not finish the distance in a single day. They did get through the four miles of precarious vegetation, but were so exhausted by the continuous labors of merely putting one foot in front of the other, and the repeated falls and subsequent struggles upward, that they could merely stagger a few yards beyond the border of the greenery to the hard-packed dry earth of the remaining distance. They barely summoned up the energy to pitch tents and they collapsed onto their bedrolls and fell immediately asleep.
They did not sleep long.
Gluttonous drops of rain began thumping on the pitched walls of their tents. Each one as fat as beetle, they squashed themselves upon the tents and the ground. Faster and faster they came, soaking the tents and the ground, the pooling water creeping maliciously onto the ground the tents covered. The noise of the rain had disturbed the twins, but not to the point of wakefulness. The creeping flooding of their shelters brought them both on their feet, and Gypsum's curses were in no way inferior to those growled loudly by his brother.
They had been too exhausted to take the usual precautions against this inconvenience. Besides that, as Feldspar pointed out in his usual ungentle speech, the sky had held no sign of rain.
After pooling just enough to ruin their night the water crept reluctantly down the almost imperceptible hill toward the river. The rain stopped with a final obnoxious chuckle and the sky cleared. The brothers' mood stayed dark somewhat longer.