08-11-2008, 12:23 PM
[Set shortly after ya'lls battle with the kyotes]
The light from a small fire glinted through the drape of darkness between the trees. The forested hills embracing the forgotten and suffocating fields had a new ghost - the enigmatic stranger who went only by Grayson. It had been three days since he stumbled into the cemetery and was met by the pack second-in-command, who then proceeded to drag him to his salvation. Gray's chin dipped as he sat near his fire, idly turning a stick skewered with freshly butchered badger meat in the flames.
As the fire lapped at the bloody flesh and crackled hungrily in the otherwise peaceful silence, the optime's thoughts spun. Three days, even in his condition, was enough time to make it to the territory center. But after his second rather enlightening encounter with Haku yesterday, Grayson still hadn't left the forest. He already had himself all figured out - he wasn't going to stay, so why mingle? Why bother? He'd stay and service the pack until he was stronger. Nothing more, nothing less. No one even had to know his name.
He had business to take care of.
Gray dug the end of the stick into the loose soil and leaned back, grimacing when the covered wound on his chest protested. The shadowy depths of his eyes were warmed in the firelight, a similar glow lightening on the metal panels gleaming around thorny brush and ivy nearby. It was a helicopter...he recognised it from an illustration in a book he had been shown, once. It was black and rusting out, almost unidentifiable. The existing blades hung awkwardly at a jaunty tilt, again so shrouded in plantlife that it was impossible to tell what it was from a distance. Grayson came upon it by accident; after tearing down the flowering crawlers that partially blocked the sliding door on the side (which he forcefully wrenched open), he discovered the pitiful discoloured skeletal remains of three humans amid the junk and raccoon scat in the rotting hull.
He'd let them be, for now. The ancient flying machine would make a good shelter...he would clean it out when he wasn't so tired.
Grayson removed the skewer and blew on it, beneath a starry sky hidden with pine fronds and mist.
The light from a small fire glinted through the drape of darkness between the trees. The forested hills embracing the forgotten and suffocating fields had a new ghost - the enigmatic stranger who went only by Grayson. It had been three days since he stumbled into the cemetery and was met by the pack second-in-command, who then proceeded to drag him to his salvation. Gray's chin dipped as he sat near his fire, idly turning a stick skewered with freshly butchered badger meat in the flames.
As the fire lapped at the bloody flesh and crackled hungrily in the otherwise peaceful silence, the optime's thoughts spun. Three days, even in his condition, was enough time to make it to the territory center. But after his second rather enlightening encounter with Haku yesterday, Grayson still hadn't left the forest. He already had himself all figured out - he wasn't going to stay, so why mingle? Why bother? He'd stay and service the pack until he was stronger. Nothing more, nothing less. No one even had to know his name.
He had business to take care of.
Gray dug the end of the stick into the loose soil and leaned back, grimacing when the covered wound on his chest protested. The shadowy depths of his eyes were warmed in the firelight, a similar glow lightening on the metal panels gleaming around thorny brush and ivy nearby. It was a helicopter...he recognised it from an illustration in a book he had been shown, once. It was black and rusting out, almost unidentifiable. The existing blades hung awkwardly at a jaunty tilt, again so shrouded in plantlife that it was impossible to tell what it was from a distance. Grayson came upon it by accident; after tearing down the flowering crawlers that partially blocked the sliding door on the side (which he forcefully wrenched open), he discovered the pitiful discoloured skeletal remains of three humans amid the junk and raccoon scat in the rotting hull.
He'd let them be, for now. The ancient flying machine would make a good shelter...he would clean it out when he wasn't so tired.
Grayson removed the skewer and blew on it, beneath a starry sky hidden with pine fronds and mist.