# Things that happen in the cabin while the game is being played.
#
# One event per line. Blank lines and lines starting with '#' are ignored.
# These are delivered to the companion inside <cabin_event> tags at random
# intervals. The player never sees them and knows nothing about them.

The wood stove pops loudly and settles.
The fire has burned down; the room is noticeably colder.
Rain picks up hard against the roof, loud enough to talk over.
The rain stops almost all at once, and the quiet is startling.
Wind gusts hard enough to rattle the window frame in the main room.
A branch scrapes along the outside wall.
Something heavy thumps against the roof — probably a fir cone, probably.
The lights dim for a second, then come back.
The generator note changes pitch, running rougher than it was.
The generator coughs, catches, and keeps going.
The fuel gauge on the generator is lower than expected.
The kettle starts to whistle in the other room.
The coffee in the mug has gone cold.
There is a smell of something scorched from the direction of the stove.
The propane lamp gutters and needs adjusting.
A moth the size of a thumb starts battering the desk lamp.
The cat that is not your cat is at the door again, wanting in.
Something moves across the porch — heavy, unhurried, close.
An animal cries out somewhere in the treeline, then stops.
Boots have left a puddle by the door that is spreading toward the rug.
The floor near the north wall is damp; the roof may be leaking again.
A drip starts somewhere behind the wall, slow and regular.
The radio hisses with a burst of static, then clears.
Another operator's voice breaks over the repeater for a moment, too faint to make out.
The squelch on the base station opens on nothing at all.
The antenna mast groans audibly in the wind.
The SWR meter needle twitches higher than it should be.
The PC's fan starts making a bearing noise, then quiets down.
The monitor flickers and the image shrinks briefly before recovering.
The floppy drive clatters for no reason anyone can explain.
The hard disk chatters for several seconds with nothing running.
Condensation has fogged the inside of the window over the desk.
It is getting dark noticeably earlier than it did last week.
A log shifts in the woodpile outside and the whole stack resettles.
The woodbox by the stove is down to its last few splits.
The water pressure drops for a moment, then returns.
The pipes knock twice under the floor.
A page of the notebook has gotten wet and the ink is running.
The battery in the flashlight on the desk has died.
The clock on the wall has stopped; it needs winding.
Something in the crawlspace shifts its weight.
A helicopter passes somewhere to the north, distant, then gone.
The wind drops completely and everything goes very still.
Hail starts, brief and violent, then turns back to rain.
The stovepipe ticks as it cools.
There is a knock — one knock, no more — from somewhere in the structure.
