a silent film he'd watched a thousand times before
Marcus arched a brow at the words, his hands still braced against the weight of the stone he’d just hauled aside. A cage. “I know how to build one,” he answered at last, voice steady, and his eyes flickered over the pile of branches Deimos had left in his wake. They weren’t beams, not by any stretch, but with enough rope and force behind them they’d hold. He had enough experience even in his short, twice-jumped life, on the Halovian tundra to build at least something rudimentary.
He rubbed his palms together, grit grinding into the creases of his skin, and turned the plan over in his mind again. One side open, rope for the door. The flush, the snare. It was simple enough to work—
“Alright,” Marcus said, finally straightening, the sweat cooling against the back of his neck. He had put together what was clearly a cage, even if the craftsmanship was more focused on quickly than perfectly. And though his hands ached and his shoulders burned, the spark of Olson determination was sharp and steady in his chest. A cage, hastily built and imperfect, would hopefully be enough.
Marcus helps make a cage for the foxes!
He rubbed his palms together, grit grinding into the creases of his skin, and turned the plan over in his mind again. One side open, rope for the door. The flush, the snare. It was simple enough to work—
“Alright,” Marcus said, finally straightening, the sweat cooling against the back of his neck. He had put together what was clearly a cage, even if the craftsmanship was more focused on quickly than perfectly. And though his hands ached and his shoulders burned, the spark of Olson determination was sharp and steady in his chest. A cage, hastily built and imperfect, would hopefully be enough.
Marcus helps make a cage for the foxes!
marcus olson
