Wyatt Earp (
the_marshal) wrote in
thearena2012-11-30 08:02 am
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WHO| Wyatt, Grey, and (later) Neeshka
WHAT| Wyatt vs. Grey, Round #2
WHEN| Mid-way through Week #4, post Alpha-death
WHERE| Woods, not too far from the ruins
WARNINGS| Bloody, bloody, death.
It was the routine that kept Wyatt going. Try to sleep despite the wet and the cold and feeling like his insides were trying to make a break out the outside. Get up, choke down something edible. Head for the woods for water. Revisit breakfast. Spend the day trying to avoid being killed. Head back to Neeshka at dark. Start over.
Keepin' it in a list like that, tellin' himself to just keep puttin' one boot in front of the other, made it easier. He could do neat, little steps.
And it seemed to be working. The past few days had passed on by without (unexpected) incident and he was beginning to wonder if maybe, just maybe, he might somehow see the end of this thing.
But then, that morning, not long after parting ways with Neeshka, as he moved down a narrow deer trail on his way to one of his snares, the earth started to move.
For a heartbeat he thought it was his head, seein' and feelin' things that weren't really there... but then a squirrel shot past his boot and the birds overhead exploded into the air in a great, screaming cloud. The ground shifted, shook, and he grabbed at the nearest tree, fingers digging into the bark in an effort to keep himself on his feet.
Just as he thought his bones might rattle right out of his body, a great, ungodly roar rose up from somewhere behind him. The sound echoed, rolling through the arena, as the ground slowly settled, finally stilled, beneath him.
Wild-eyed he looked back the way he'd come.
The ruins. The sound had come from the direction of the ruins.
Neeshka.
Forgetting all about the snare, he turned and started running.
WHAT| Wyatt vs. Grey, Round #2
WHEN| Mid-way through Week #4, post Alpha-death
WHERE| Woods, not too far from the ruins
WARNINGS| Bloody, bloody, death.
It was the routine that kept Wyatt going. Try to sleep despite the wet and the cold and feeling like his insides were trying to make a break out the outside. Get up, choke down something edible. Head for the woods for water. Revisit breakfast. Spend the day trying to avoid being killed. Head back to Neeshka at dark. Start over.
Keepin' it in a list like that, tellin' himself to just keep puttin' one boot in front of the other, made it easier. He could do neat, little steps.
And it seemed to be working. The past few days had passed on by without (unexpected) incident and he was beginning to wonder if maybe, just maybe, he might somehow see the end of this thing.
But then, that morning, not long after parting ways with Neeshka, as he moved down a narrow deer trail on his way to one of his snares, the earth started to move.
For a heartbeat he thought it was his head, seein' and feelin' things that weren't really there... but then a squirrel shot past his boot and the birds overhead exploded into the air in a great, screaming cloud. The ground shifted, shook, and he grabbed at the nearest tree, fingers digging into the bark in an effort to keep himself on his feet.
Just as he thought his bones might rattle right out of his body, a great, ungodly roar rose up from somewhere behind him. The sound echoed, rolling through the arena, as the ground slowly settled, finally stilled, beneath him.
Wild-eyed he looked back the way he'd come.
The ruins. The sound had come from the direction of the ruins.
Neeshka.
Forgetting all about the snare, he turned and started running.
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-but only coughed instead, a pathetic sound, weaker than before as the fight in him drained. His gaze slipped aside, glassy and distant, focused on something only he could see.
His lips trembled, a whisper escaping (his agreement? a wish of good luck? a name?), and then he stilled, hand falling away as he faded and was gone.
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