Raining on me so damn long, but that's relief to a man who calls a desert home
Tugging on a particularly combative vine to give it enough tension to hack through cleanly, Colt grunts and groans, less strong than her company, or at least strong in ways that don't use all these same muscle groups, Colt's sweating quickly. It beads along her temple and darkens the places where her skin comes together at joints or between her shoulders. "Good," she remarks with a pant she tries to swallow down, not wanting to appear unable to hold her own out here. It's no help that her blade is just a normally forged sort, unblessed by godly hands. Might be worth swapping to her arrows, as absurd as that seems. "I'll take a look at your notes, cross-reference with our engineer to be sure all is still cohesive, but I appreciate your eye passing over it." His building skills would fill in the gaps of her own knowledge, and help improve the schematics that her other builders had already worked on, making the entire thing a better beast by the end. At a certain point, too much input would be worse, but it's why she'd collect everyone's say and go from there, not let one lead the other in circles.
As Zavien's call rises from the brush further down, Colt pauses, having just ducked under one of the merrily bright toxic flowers. Her shoulder rests against a nearby thick stalk of vegetation, a foot kicking away dead logs further to the side. "What kind of tracks?" she asks, glancing towards him with a wary knit to her brow. She glances behind her, at the path they've begun to clear and the line of sand beyond, where Jesse waits guard, and wonders if it might slip behind them and go for the woman standing alone.
Licking her lips, Colt swings her machete down again, tearing through some brush, the noise intentional now. "There's a lot of old growth here, I think this jungle struggles this far out from the water source and the sand border that it dies too fast to decompose in time, so it builds up, traps itself with its own death." If anything, clearing this shit out would help the forest, like a haircut removing dead ends. It'd keep it from funneling resources into useless growth. "All that to say, I can't imagine it's anything big, too much to get tangled in. Are you sure it's not the drag path of vines or falling plants?" Wind perhaps knocking leaves against the soil, sticks scratching out strange patterns on what bits of ground remain amid the leaf litter.
Colt says clearing the jungle is healthy for it because it's overgrown, so stands to reason whatever tracks he saw could be plant-related from rapid growth and decline, or if it's an animal it should be small as it's too dense for larger predators.
As Zavien's call rises from the brush further down, Colt pauses, having just ducked under one of the merrily bright toxic flowers. Her shoulder rests against a nearby thick stalk of vegetation, a foot kicking away dead logs further to the side. "What kind of tracks?" she asks, glancing towards him with a wary knit to her brow. She glances behind her, at the path they've begun to clear and the line of sand beyond, where Jesse waits guard, and wonders if it might slip behind them and go for the woman standing alone.
Licking her lips, Colt swings her machete down again, tearing through some brush, the noise intentional now. "There's a lot of old growth here, I think this jungle struggles this far out from the water source and the sand border that it dies too fast to decompose in time, so it builds up, traps itself with its own death." If anything, clearing this shit out would help the forest, like a haircut removing dead ends. It'd keep it from funneling resources into useless growth. "All that to say, I can't imagine it's anything big, too much to get tangled in. Are you sure it's not the drag path of vines or falling plants?" Wind perhaps knocking leaves against the soil, sticks scratching out strange patterns on what bits of ground remain amid the leaf litter.
Colt says clearing the jungle is healthy for it because it's overgrown, so stands to reason whatever tracks he saw could be plant-related from rapid growth and decline, or if it's an animal it should be small as it's too dense for larger predators.
Colt
Still gripping the shovel that got me here, fear if I let go I might disappear
Received a Gilded Market wig from Remi that resembles her usual hair and is enchanted to stay on better than most wigs | has a reverse centaur tattoo on her left hand with the legs going down her pointer and middle fingers that looks like this.
