KNEE DEEP [P]

[Digg Haywood]

Shit, hunting is boring. Digg thought, barely managing to stifle a yawn. He was seated criss-cross applesauce in one of the tree blinds he and Winch had set up a few months back on their trek through the Grey Lands. It was a relatively free zone without a bunch of territory disputes (for now) that meant he and other roamers could hunt and camp without worrying about getting chased off some Carna or Fulsi's turf. "Oh, lord," he sighed, casting his grey eyes to the sky. "I'm so bored I'm sat here thinking about Ring politics." He kept his voice low, an iota above a whisper. Just 'cause he was bored as shit didn't mean he was a shit hunter.

He fancied himself a fair decent shot. All those years cooped up in the blinds back on the ranch with Boone and their Pop paid off. He'd never thought it'd be possible to miss the smell of deer urine, but somehow ... Nah. Scratch that. He didn't miss the smell of deer piss. He missed his brother. And his pop. And ma. And the ranch.

Shit. No. Shake it off, Diggles. Shake it off.

He feigned interest in movement down below, thinking maybe he could distract hisself from hisself long enough to let those thoughts blow away on the breeze like the wind blew away the stank of deer piss. But then his eyes actually caught on something, a flicker of movement below. A buck was picking its way down a wide alley that was pretty much all forest by now, the buildings crawling with ivy and the pavement tore up with roots and grass. Every now and again Digg heard the deer's hoof scrape against the cement. His body hummed with excitement, flicking that little switch in his brain that instantly made hunting a thrill again. He moved slowly, quietly, his body still as he could make it despite the thrum of adrenaline humming through him. Most people thought he wasn't cut out for hunting. He couldn't keep still if his life depended on it, for the most part. But he had the deer in his sights, and there wasn't no way he was gonna let it get free. Winch and Clem needed that meat. They all did.

He knocked an arrow to his recurve bow, running his fingers along the smooth shaft, tickling along the flight as he waited. He waited and waited for what felt like days until he saw his shot and took it. The arrow flew straight and true and the buck went down quick and clean. He couldn't help but let out a hoot as he gathered his gear, slung his bow over his shoulder and scrambled his way the tree and to his kill. In his excitement, he lost his footing on the last branch and slid the rest of the way down; luckily his ass broke his fall and not his bow. He sat for a minute, winded, wondering if it was possible to break your ass bone. He'd broke almost every bone in his body. Didn't recall ever breaking his ass bone, though.

He gave himself a minute to catch his breath before rolling to his knees, then eventually to his feet and half-limped, half-danced over to where the buck lay. It was healthy looking, strong, not likely diseased. A good kill. He kneeled down next to the deer, running his fingers over the fur, admiring it for a moment before he removed his arrow with a soft squelch. He sighed through his nose, leaning back on his heels to survey the scene. He didn't see any imminent threat, so he rummaged around in the grass and dirt next to the deer, gathering a small pile of stones and pebbles. He thought he heard a small shuffle of noise in the distance. Without glancing up, he stacked the stones quickly, but carefully, until there was a small mound next to where the deer rested. Sentimental bullshit his dad had taught him. But he couldn't ever bring himself to leave without honoring the life of the deer in some small way.

With that, Digg got to his feet and grabbed the buck by its antlers to drag it to a safer spot where it could be properly cleaned.

[Dahlia Rex]

Dahlia couldn't remember the last time she had been here, in the land of shadow. No Man's Land always gave her hope and tore her anxiety to pieces at the same time. The sun shone as brightly as anywhere else, trees littered the landscape, and there were even signs of human life. Cracked pavements, shingles from a roof, broken plastic buckets. But No Man's Land always had a darkness lingering over it, one that could possibly keep Dahlia safe from monsters. The shadows were her friends, a blanket she could hide under. Just like the pools of water she hunted near. But there were no lakes or pools in sight, and that kept Dahlia on edge. She could still be seen. She could still be killed.

There was no such thing as paradise. 

Her shoulders hunched up near her ears as she inched forward, step by careful step with her heel rolling down to the soles of her feet. She didn't see anyone, but that didn't mean they weren't there. Hiding in tree branches, hiding in the dirt beneath her feet, hiding in her cells ready to strike; sometimes she wished she could tear out of her own skin. She almost didn't hear the rustling of leaves, and she breathed out a laugh. Her bow held strong on her back, and it never let her down. Never. If she had to shoot for the instant kill, she would. Her wandering brought her to this wasteland; her duty would get her out. Yes. Their deaths were always her salvation. She let it drive her nerves until they sparked.

Dahlia lowered to the ground so fast that her chin almost hit pavement. She saw a man drawing a bow and notching the arrow, but it looked so different she stopped for a moment. Dahlia locked into place, still as a statue, when she hunted. This man ran his fingers over parts of the bow, over the flight, like he was intimately familiar with the weapon. Dahlia pulled her own bow from her back, staring at it. Why? It was a means to an end. What more value could such a weapon have? She tilted her head, frozen, even though her legs burned from crouching so close to the ground. She welcomed the pain. She wanted to know what this man was doing.

He let the arrow fly, and Dahlia had to admit the shot was beautiful. The arrow hardly wavered from its course, and Dahlia could feel the power behind it even from far away. It hit a buck, and it went down. Methodical. Perfect. She let a knee come to the ground. Her mouth slightly fell open, her whiskers tickling her bottom lip. This was a practiced form she rarely got to see. He let out a hoot as the arrow struck, and she shook her head. Why? She was asking that a lot. Why? Death wasn't a celebration. It was a necessity, a means to an end. Dahlia straightened to move.

Until he tumbled down the hill.

He avoided his bow deliberately during his fall, but a low growl escaped Dahlia as she moved so one leg was straightened out, the other in a kneel underneath her. She slid her bow over her head and pulled an arrow out of its quiver. She dipped the arrow into the splotch on her cheek, ignoring the stinging pain. This man deserved a more personal kill; she could say that much.

Dahlia stopped again as the man stroked the deer's coat, and then collected rocks and pebbles into a mound next to it. She couldn't understand it. She couldn't begin to fathom it. This man saw death as a entity, a personality, and she felt that familiar feeling crawl up her spine. Fear. She pulled back the arrow with her usual precision, but she knew instantly something was wrong the moment she released it.

The arrow whizzed past the man and sank into the trunk of the nearby tree with a thunk. Dahlia's fear transformed into panic. No. No. She never missed. Ever. Why? Why? In an instant, she hated that word. She hated that this man just ruined everything, her entire existence. She fell to her knees, staring at her hands. It took far too long to fathom she should run.

She got up and scrambled away, tripping as she did so, because she was a coward and cowards always run. 

OOC: mo money I admit I don't get what just happened.

[Digg Haywood]

"The f***," was out of his mouth before he even realized what was happening; he'd blinked and the next thing he saw was the shaft of an arrow about a centimeter from his nose as it whizzed by, time almost grinding to a halt as he leaned back, head turning not to follow the arrow but to see where it'd come from. Instinct took over, or maybe stupidity, but by the time the arrow thunked into the tree his hand was already reaching for his machete. The arrow still shuddering from its impact, Digg lurched to his feet and pulled the machete from its sheath in one quick, surprisingly fluid movement. He crashed into the undergrowth, barreling straight for whatever had shot at him.

He was being a dumbass, he knew, and he'd dealt with thieves for years now. But they still got to him. It was his deer. It was his family's deer. Hey, it was also his life, but as he plunged into the thick brush he wasn't really thinking clearly. All he knew is that he wanted to find whatever asshole had tried to stick an arrow between his eyes and ... That's about as far as he'd gotten, plan-wise.

He saw a dim flicker of movement a ways off and raised his machete, letting out a hoarse scream that sounded more like some sick howl that he'd heard the Carna use before. It felt wrong and twisted, but as he leaped over a fallen branch just as the figure in front of him tripped and stumbled to the ground, he felt a swell of adrenaline. He put on a burst of speed as the form, small, lithe, got to its feet. "Stop!" He roared, his throat raw and sharp from the sounds of it. "Stop running, you yella-bellied sonofabitch!" He raised his machete over his head for added effect. He'd never used it on another person afore, but he supposed there was a first time for everything. His stomach turned at the thought and he slowed, for a second, before steeling himself. "I said stop!" And then the machete was flying from his hand, hurled with all his force (ok, maybe not all of it), and he watched it sail straight to the back of the quickly disappearing figure.

[Dahlia Rex]

Dahlia almost didn't hear the whistling and whispering of steel in the air over her clumsy stomping. Almost, but not quite. She looked over her shoulder and shrieked as a machete tumbled top over bottom towards her at a speed that made her nauseous. Her own voice grated against her ears, like it always did; her soft gazelle ears that didn't make much sense when stacked against her creation. She spun around and froze for just a moment, wondering if her fears would abate enough to face her own death. But the instinct rose in her anyway, like the swell of an ocean wave.

She wondered what would happen if this shifter came across her dead body. Probably run away in revulsion, but for a moment, Dahlia could see an alternative. She saw his clumsy movements in her mind's eye, him running his fingers through the tawny coat of the deer, gentle movements. For a moment, through half lidded eyes, she could feel his fingers on the soft skin of her ears, her shoulder where normal human skin prevailed, avoiding the yellow and black splotches, maybe even her face. Would he? With someone such as her? Only in death, but...

No! No no no!

The wave crashed down. Dahlia had no recollection of grabbing a knife out of her holster, just the moment when it left her hand. It hit the machete with enough force to slow it, and she dove out of the way. Rolling flung up dirt in fine clouds, and she used the distraction to pull up her bow, nock another arrow, and shoot. She didn't wait to see if it would connect, and she ran off to the side before bracing her feet into the dirt. Her torso swung low, a rodeo horse staring down the fierce eyes of a bull, but she was prey and predator and praying and bracing.

“'Away from me!” the words ripped out of her like knives through paper. Dahlia coughed in the dust, and she saw the slain deer before she saw the man who killed it. It reminded her so painfully of herself that she came to a halt. Soft ears. Broken body. Nothing in space and mind. She rested the bow on her knee and knelt once again, pulling the arrow and aiming towards the shifter running towards her like a maniac. She held that position, waiting. Seeing what he would do next, now that she knew there was no escape for her.


Maybe that should have been a relief, but her ocean self only swelled once again. The Creators wanted worse for her, and worse they would get.

OOC: mo money I did a thing!