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castitas) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
singillatim2025-11-01 11:45 pm
[ All thoughts of the pie maker are swiftly forgotten by the time she hobbles out of the cabin, back out into the... snow? She struggles in her boots — like she's put on her mom's by accident, but she doesn't even remember putting them on. And her clothes feel like they swamp her, keeping one hand at her waist to keep her pants in place. Everything just feels so... big. Her clothes, the world, the wolf-dog at her side who looks at her with confusion but interest.
(Makes sense. Instead of young girl, barely out of her teens, there's a child of around six or seven years of age — not that she quite realises that.)
She doesn't know what she's supposed to do, or where she's meant to be. Or how to even get there. It's cold out. But, like. Maybe mom or dad will come get her, right?
So she takes a seat on a nearby porch, the wolf-dog following and flopping down beside her. It's still cold, but she guesses this is the smart thing to do, right? They'll come get her real soon. ]
[ Over the next few days, Kate manages to find clothes that fit better. She wanders around Milton with Merry in tow, the wolf-dog ever watchful of her. She keeps to the more well-populated areas of the town's centre: the library someone (she thinks she knows him) set up so she can go read; the Community Hall to draw and colour or poke at the piano there; or even just to play fetch with... Merry. She remembers his name is Merry. She'll toss a stick or two for him to bring back.
She keeps to herself, for the most part. But it's certainly an odd sight, considering the distinct lack of children in this place. She thinks it's weird. ]
[ It's not unusual for Tim to go off on his own. Sometimes there's stretches of time where she doesn't see him. But— he always ends up finding his way back to her, eventually. It's been too long, and considering everything lately—
things had been okay. They'd been okay. They'd talked. It had been okay.
She searches, but part of her can't help but know that things are— that maybe he's—
She'd curled up in bed and just wished to disappear, when Harry Goodsir disappeared. She'd gone and she knew he was going back to die, just like she would. Tim had curled up in bed beside her and begged her to stay, promised her that no one would hurt her again.
(Maybe if she curls up in bed again, Tim might come back that way.)
No, she has to try and find him. She heads through town, looking through places he might be — even searching through abandoned homes in case he's holing up somewhere. She even tries the gas station, calling out into the quiet. ]
Tim—? It's not funny anymore, Tim—!
[ She'll head out into the woods, tries not to head far out into the woods on her own. He'd be so mad at her being out here. The bitter chill bites at her skin, but she's less bothered by the cold these days.
He has to be here, he has to. He can't have gone home, not back to— not back to all of it. Robin, the Demon's Head— ]
Tim—? Come on, you gotta come out now. Please—!
[ On occasions, Kate helps out in the Community Hall when it's not the bi-monthly feasts that Methuselah holds. She's in the kitchen space, helping putting together a pot of venison stew. She doesn't do any of the butchering herself, but she's well used to handling raw meat from time to time.
She's been so... cranky, lately. And she guesses why, considering— everything. Tim's gone. Either he's out there in the wilds in his dead, or he's like all the other people who vanish into thin air. Gone. Gone home, Kate guesses. Probably never to come back, and there's nothing left for her to do about any of it all but— well, just keep going.
And she's hungry. Her head tells her she's not, but her stomach disagrees. She hasn't had much of an appetite with Tim being gone. But she can busy herself with work, to try and get her mind off it — cutting the venison into chunks.
She's not sure what it is, if it's hunger or something else (what else could it be?). But one moment she's working her knife through the meat and the next she's grabbing a handful of venison chunk and cramming it into her mouth with abandon. ]
[ The heat makes her itch, and there's a quiet kind of torture of running hot. The kind that makes her skin crawl, like she wants to dig into it and rip whatever heat her latest ability out of her. But outside, in the bitter chill, she feels better — stays outside as long as she can, keeping to herself.
In the dark, she can hide. A tall, gangly shape — fresh sharp horns protruding from her temples, blood weeping a little from where the skin breaks. The cold is a balm, and she wanders aimlessly within it with three drives — cold, solitude and food.
There are plenty of traps set up in the outskirts, she's plenty familiar of them by now — where Interlopers have been trying to catch rabbits for over two years now. She goes to them, looking for something fresh caught. When she finds one, she crouches down to free it — sharp nails tearing into fur to the flesh beneath. The rawness doesn't bother her now. She doesn't throw it up now. It's the only thing she feels she can eat these days.
She realises she's not alone. She keeps herself crouches down, but looks round: two glowing eyes peer at through the dark, beneath the streaks of white through her hair.
The words aren't afraid, calling out into the dark. It sounds more accusatory, like a threat. ]
Who's there?
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