COLT
My clothes still smell like smoke
Your name's still in my throat
But the glow ain't worth the burn that loving leaves
Your name's still in my throat
But the glow ain't worth the burn that loving leaves
The hike drew them into the jungle on a path that's more visibly worn down than the rest. It's almost hard to tell though, with how greedy new growth is here, but the natives travel it enough that by virtue of its use, it's maintained. When they get close enough, one of the leads halts them all suddenly, gestures used and raised up rather than voice. Colt doesn't know precisely what the hand motions mean, but the hunter closest to her and Marcus leans in faintly to whisper the intel. They've spotted tracks ahead and can hear the birds calling to one another. They suspect it's not the entire flock yet, but they motion for everyone to be quiet and get into position.
Colt nods, pulling her bow and a sharpened arrow free in preparation. She crouches lowerr as she walks, mindful of every foot placement as she nestles in beside a fallen log and peers into the clearing not far from here. The water hole is smaller than she expected. It's no grand lake and scarcely seems to earn the title pond, but then for the desert this place is a practical oasis.
She sees the brown birds, camouflaging well with the ground where they spend a good deal of their time, wandering about in search of food or company with one another. A few are drinking, and some yet are bathing in the shallow edge. They will wait a bit longer. The hike here has made the sun lower and activity has gone up, the increased noises in the jungle proof enough. Too long and they won't be able to see much longer, but too early and they risk spooking the flock before all have returned.
Colt nods, pulling her bow and a sharpened arrow free in preparation. She crouches lowerr as she walks, mindful of every foot placement as she nestles in beside a fallen log and peers into the clearing not far from here. The water hole is smaller than she expected. It's no grand lake and scarcely seems to earn the title pond, but then for the desert this place is a practical oasis.
She sees the brown birds, camouflaging well with the ground where they spend a good deal of their time, wandering about in search of food or company with one another. A few are drinking, and some yet are bathing in the shallow edge. They will wait a bit longer. The hike here has made the sun lower and activity has gone up, the increased noises in the jungle proof enough. Too long and they won't be able to see much longer, but too early and they risk spooking the flock before all have returned.
When fire meets gasoline
Lights you up quick but you can't control the heat
It burns bright but damn you lose everything
We only ever end up ashes on the breeze
Lights you up quick but you can't control the heat
It burns bright but damn you lose everything
We only ever end up ashes on the breeze
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.
