Near eastern borders, mid-day
The jagged appearance of his ivory teeth behind ebony lips were so often on display these days. Perhaps it was time to long for the chaotic peace of Freetown. He hadn’t officially mourned at the funeral together with his family. Instead, he had crept along the shadows, watching orange flames devour Larkspur the Giant. Now he was all that remained, and he wished he had inherited his father’s jack-o-lantern eyes. But Pandemic had not been gifted colours at his birth, and remained black and grey.
The large D’Angelo’s muzzle was wrinkled with detest for the simple flint he held in his hands. His mission was merely to create simple, sharp flakes that could eventually be used as arrowheads and primitive knives. It was a pathetically aged method, but there wasn’t a whole lot of free metal lying around, and since he had found the flint, he thought he ought to use it. It wasn’t true practise, but it would do for now. Anything to redirect his burdened conscience.
Stormy eyes occasionally strayed to the comfortable currents of the river that embraced the majority of Salsola’s borders, but the dancing water no longer had the ability to soothe. Water ought to quench fire, but what did he know?
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