It takes the better part of a day to track them down. Separated from Orc for the time being, Howard's moving faster than he was yesterday, but he's low on energy. Trying to supplement his diet with the local wildlife ended up being disastrous, and the humidity is smothering the last of his energy. He takes rests frequently, utilizing the shade as much as he can and wishing for breezes.
The light purple - supposedly a bleached royal, but if Howard's honest it looks like lavender or some color that would be used in soaps - of his t-shirt is taking on a dirty grey and brown color from sweat and dirt. He's cut the hems of his cargos off for rope, but also because they kept getting caught under his shoes, short as he is. The grass has given him light welts across his ankles. There's a stain of vomit that he tried to wash out with rainwater down the front of his overshirt.
Despite all this, he feels almost like a child approaching John, about to show off. Look, I didn't get injured this time, I'm not coming to you for medical care this time.
What he knows is that John won't attack him, and while Sherlock may search him again, Sherlock doesn't kill. For the most part, Joan is still an uncertain variable, and Howard waits until she's at the far end of camp before approaching. His knife is heavy in his pocket, and there's a red cut along his palm from gripping it out of habit. He misses the one he has back in the Capitol, that folds closed.
For all three
The light purple - supposedly a bleached royal, but if Howard's honest it looks like lavender or some color that would be used in soaps - of his t-shirt is taking on a dirty grey and brown color from sweat and dirt. He's cut the hems of his cargos off for rope, but also because they kept getting caught under his shoes, short as he is. The grass has given him light welts across his ankles. There's a stain of vomit that he tried to wash out with rainwater down the front of his overshirt.
Despite all this, he feels almost like a child approaching John, about to show off. Look, I didn't get injured this time, I'm not coming to you for medical care this time.
What he knows is that John won't attack him, and while Sherlock may search him again, Sherlock doesn't kill. For the most part, Joan is still an uncertain variable, and Howard waits until she's at the far end of camp before approaching. His knife is heavy in his pocket, and there's a red cut along his palm from gripping it out of habit. He misses the one he has back in the Capitol, that folds closed.
He lingers at the edges of their camp. "Hello?"