[ There are cracks in the earth. Dotted along the landscape and churned up asphalt and makeshift graves of former Milton residents of the Costal Highway. By chance, she comes across one of the fissures, pausing to examine them and finding the pale-green vapours. It's weird. Green isn't the colour of danger. It's supposed to be red.
The journey back to Milton is a long one, with plenty of stops along the way. Kate withdraws slowly with suspicion and a low-burning ire she keeps pressed down. The group is smaller than those who journeyed down to Silverpoint. Plenty of people didn't stay long and left long before May came to an end, and some have stayed behind by the coast. She'd been tempted to stay longer, but she misses people back in Milton.
She'd reach out to some of them. She doesn't know if they got her messages. She hopes they did, or— sorta. Some of them were a mess. But the coast had been good for her.
By the time they've gotten through most of Lakeside, she hangs back in the group — Merry close to her side. Merry who whines and grumbled, unsettled by the separation from the others. By the time they've reached the Mines, she hangs back in the Mining Camp, urging the others to go forwards.
She doesn't trust them, wary of them—
The walk from the mines down to Milton is too quiet. She pulls her gloves off and pulls out her flare gun. It's loaded. She doesn't like the quiet. Even alone, she's sure there's... something, someone out there. And not even Merry is immune to the growing, gnawing feeling. It's like a swarm of hornets, an incessant prickling at the back of her neck, her jaw tight as she grinds her teeth.
Stop looking at me. she snaps at Merry, and the wolf-dog keeps his head and tail low.
The moment she sees the bear, the swarm of hornets in her head blurs into a high-pitched screech. Everything is too sharp and bright. The colours that glow around her: warnings of mustard-yellow bleed into red and white-hot. She's not afraid. She's angry, strung too tight and her fingers are already burning from the cold. Merry's barking furiously, trying to ward the animal off.
She's not running, she's screaming furiously — stalking forwards as the bear rears up and charges. She raises her arms, her hands don't even shake.
Click.
The sound is deafening. A hot red-white dazzling flash of light. It sinks into the bear's skull, through the eye. The bear crumples with a grunt. Kate's throwing off her pack, blind to the animal's death and charging forwards as she grabs a strewn branch from the snow — still screaming into the open air as she starts to beat the downed beast.
The flare fizzles and roars from the eye socket, smoke trailing. The flare is red and white and Kate's red and white and on the ground is red and white and red and white and— ]
— tim drake
[ There are cracks in the earth. Dotted along the landscape and churned up asphalt and makeshift graves of former Milton residents of the Costal Highway. By chance, she comes across one of the fissures, pausing to examine them and finding the pale-green vapours. It's weird. Green isn't the colour of danger. It's supposed to be red.
The journey back to Milton is a long one, with plenty of stops along the way. Kate withdraws slowly with suspicion and a low-burning ire she keeps pressed down. The group is smaller than those who journeyed down to Silverpoint. Plenty of people didn't stay long and left long before May came to an end, and some have stayed behind by the coast. She'd been tempted to stay longer, but she misses people back in Milton.
She'd reach out to some of them. She doesn't know if they got her messages. She hopes they did, or— sorta. Some of them were a mess. But the coast had been good for her.
By the time they've gotten through most of Lakeside, she hangs back in the group — Merry close to her side. Merry who whines and grumbled, unsettled by the separation from the others. By the time they've reached the Mines, she hangs back in the Mining Camp, urging the others to go forwards.
She doesn't trust them, wary of them—
The walk from the mines down to Milton is too quiet. She pulls her gloves off and pulls out her flare gun. It's loaded. She doesn't like the quiet. Even alone, she's sure there's... something, someone out there. And not even Merry is immune to the growing, gnawing feeling. It's like a swarm of hornets, an incessant prickling at the back of her neck, her jaw tight as she grinds her teeth.
Stop looking at me. she snaps at Merry, and the wolf-dog keeps his head and tail low.
The moment she sees the bear, the swarm of hornets in her head blurs into a high-pitched screech. Everything is too sharp and bright. The colours that glow around her: warnings of mustard-yellow bleed into red and white-hot. She's not afraid. She's angry, strung too tight and her fingers are already burning from the cold. Merry's barking furiously, trying to ward the animal off.
She's not running, she's screaming furiously — stalking forwards as the bear rears up and charges. She raises her arms, her hands don't even shake.
Click.
The sound is deafening. A hot red-white dazzling flash of light. It sinks into the bear's skull, through the eye. The bear crumples with a grunt. Kate's throwing off her pack, blind to the animal's death and charging forwards as she grabs a strewn branch from the snow — still screaming into the open air as she starts to beat the downed beast.
The flare fizzles and roars from the eye socket, smoke trailing. The flare is red and white and Kate's red and white and on the ground is red and white and red and white and— ]