Growan
Well-Known Member
A warm gentle breeze blew in from the west, carrying with it a smell that lingered on the edge of familiarity, but just out of recognition.
To the Three, it was like an echo. A familiar song being hummed by a strange voice.
Pinworm shifted uncomfortably in his makeshift bed, the stretched tarpaulin reaching almost to the dusty ground where the ants and beetles searched for dropped fragments of the recent meal.
"Where is he?"
The question was directed at nobody in particular. The other Two were lost in their own thoughts, seeking solace in the memories and safety of the past.
For an endless time they had sat waiting. For an endless time they had nurtured the belief that he was just over the brow of the hill, that he was nearly back, nearly safe. That axiom was starting to fracture, to come loose at the seams. The tenuous threads that stitched that hope together were beginning to fray and the fabric of that particular reality was fading, losing it's lustre in the waning light of approaching evening.
ChingOwn dropped the rusty spanner into the oil drenched dirt beneath the stricken Ford.
"I'm done. Nothing else I can do here." He exhaled, his breath catching in his throat, rasping. "I guess we're pedestrian again."
"We'll sleep tonight, then tomorrow we head back West. If he hasn't doubled back already we'll catch him up. He's smart enough to stick to the trail so we'll find him."
Pinworm nodded his assent and curled into a tight ball in his hammock, turning his back to the last rays if the sun as the dropped below the distant horizon.
The goat scratched at a root protruding from the sandy ground with his hoof, deciding it was more effort to dig up and eat than the calories it would provide warranted.
He was tired. His great, curving horns weighed heavy. Once such a sense of pride to him they now seemed as a cruel and ironic handicap, draging him down.
"Where are you?" his plea echoed Pinworm's earlier lament.
"Where are you, and fuck you, @dynarider. Fuck you for leaving us."
To the Three, it was like an echo. A familiar song being hummed by a strange voice.
Pinworm shifted uncomfortably in his makeshift bed, the stretched tarpaulin reaching almost to the dusty ground where the ants and beetles searched for dropped fragments of the recent meal.
"Where is he?"
The question was directed at nobody in particular. The other Two were lost in their own thoughts, seeking solace in the memories and safety of the past.
For an endless time they had sat waiting. For an endless time they had nurtured the belief that he was just over the brow of the hill, that he was nearly back, nearly safe. That axiom was starting to fracture, to come loose at the seams. The tenuous threads that stitched that hope together were beginning to fray and the fabric of that particular reality was fading, losing it's lustre in the waning light of approaching evening.
ChingOwn dropped the rusty spanner into the oil drenched dirt beneath the stricken Ford.
"I'm done. Nothing else I can do here." He exhaled, his breath catching in his throat, rasping. "I guess we're pedestrian again."
"We'll sleep tonight, then tomorrow we head back West. If he hasn't doubled back already we'll catch him up. He's smart enough to stick to the trail so we'll find him."
Pinworm nodded his assent and curled into a tight ball in his hammock, turning his back to the last rays if the sun as the dropped below the distant horizon.
The goat scratched at a root protruding from the sandy ground with his hoof, deciding it was more effort to dig up and eat than the calories it would provide warranted.
He was tired. His great, curving horns weighed heavy. Once such a sense of pride to him they now seemed as a cruel and ironic handicap, draging him down.
"Where are you?" his plea echoed Pinworm's earlier lament.
"Where are you, and fuck you, @dynarider. Fuck you for leaving us."
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