07-03-2017, 11:48 PM
[align=center][size=9pt]How long had he been here? Wandering these woods for almost a month it seemed, doing the same thing each day. He'd eat leaves and find dandelions or the occasional not-quite rotten fruit to eat, trying desperately to satisfy his hunger. Despite being hungry half the time, it wasn't the worst of his problems. His body needed vitamins, nutrients and minerals. All that stuff that Trevor had read once in a half burnt, smudged up book about health. He needed meat. Protein. And his body was very clearly showing it. His bones shown underneath scabs that seemed to be forming over scabs. His body wasn't healing itself properly without meat, and he'd grown sick over the last week. He could almost feel the bacteria crawling all over him... he felt disgusting. He spent some time trying to bathe when he felt comfortable enough to show his body. He wasn't burning fat, or gaining muscle, and in turn had grown a small belly that only hurt his self confidence...
In all, he as light headed, his memory was terrible, and he couldn't properly think. That was what bothered him the most. Hell, he could barely remember what all John said. He was just hoping that, at this point, there would be a prize. Had John mentioned a prize? Perhaps it would be a small piece of venison or jerky or... anything. The thought made his mouth water. He could drink a pool of blood at this point. He had vowed long ago that he'd be a terrible vegetarian.
Where would John have hidden a flag? Trevor lifted his sunken eyes to the trees, scanning the branches for a piece of cloth that could be hanging over one or dangling from the leaves. Trevor frowned quietly, staring down at his feet and his torn up shoes. He felt exhausted. He'd hardly gone far enough out into the forest for any flags to show up. With a quiet whimper to himself, he trudged on, his eyes tearing up now and then as he realized that, even if he found a flag, he felt so faint he might not make it back in time. The thought made his chest hurt and his stomach cramp. This was a terrible idea. He should have just stayed where he was familiar, in that little patch of forest he explored for food, the forest that he could get back to his home in without maybe dying.
A sigh passed through him, making his sides heave. Just keep moving. He could do this. Have hope. He glanced up to check his path, moving along a deer-trail in a quiet shuffle. He took a glance around, a sheet of fluttering white catching his eye. A... flag. A flag. An actual smile creased his eyes and he let out a squeal of joy. He found one. "I found one," he breathed, feeling tears burn at his nose. He did it. He did something right!
Faster than he probably should have, being so weak, he scrambled towards it, stuck in the ground near some bushes between a set of trees. From a distance, he carefully observed the area. Nobody else was around to take it from him... he'd actually done it. His smile widened, his slightly crooked teeth brightening his face. As awkward as a newborn fawn, he staggered towards it, tripping over a couple brambles. One more stumble, and he had his hand on it, and there was a snap somewhere ahead of him.
Pain shot up his spine, warmth flooding through his torso. He squeaked, his body suddenly freezing up in shock. For a few moments, while the adrenaline started pouring into his system, he couldn't move, staring at the place where a whip trap once stood prepared. Two very short sicks, sharpened at the end, had found their way into his stomach. They didn't seem long enough to cause any real damage, but they'd torn.
He stared down at himself, letting the flag drop and reaching down to push the branch away with surprisingly steady hands and strong arms. With a careful step, he let the branch whip itself back into it's previous position, leaving Trevor with a couple two inch deep puncture wounds, bleeding profusely into his shirt and waistline. They weren't big at all. If anything, they were like metal nails... were they? He looked, dazed and eyes glazed over, at the stick. Yeah. Yeah they were. He... hell, he had to get back. HE picked the flag off of the stick and holding it to his stomach, wanting nothing more but to stop the bleeding... god, these weren't going to heal. His body wasn't equipt with the food source to handle this.
All the same, the adrenaline made his mind sharp. Home. He turned and started forward, his steps strong and his hands working a knot in the flag, creating a bandage that wasn't exactly dying the flag, but staining it. Honestly, it was the last thing on his mind. He pushed through the forest, following the vague sound of people laughing and the smell of some fire somewhere.
Soon enough, he pressed himself through into the city, looking around him in silence. John. Go back to John. John will help. He turned and let out a soft whimper. Halfway back the pain had started coming through, and it was making him shake again, his entire body pale and sickly looking. He stepped into the clearing, and fiddling with the knot, shuffling like he were half-dead over to John. He carefully pulled the flag off of his stomach and held it out to him. "I-I... I-I'm s-sorry I-I got blood on it," he shuttered, before turning and finding himself a place to sit, his hands on his stomach as he searched for the little box of cotton fabric he had. He pulled out a strip, and found some sap to stick it to his skin, holding the cloth over the wound without him having to touch or tie it. That would... help. He'd be fine. He sighed, hunching over himself and trying to come to terms with the entire thing... had John... had John put that trap there...? Trevor wasn't sure what to think. He wanted so badly for John to be a good person... but that trap hurt. Surely John wasn't responsible. Trevor refused to believe it.
// wewe no good way to end it
1069 Words
In all, he as light headed, his memory was terrible, and he couldn't properly think. That was what bothered him the most. Hell, he could barely remember what all John said. He was just hoping that, at this point, there would be a prize. Had John mentioned a prize? Perhaps it would be a small piece of venison or jerky or... anything. The thought made his mouth water. He could drink a pool of blood at this point. He had vowed long ago that he'd be a terrible vegetarian.
Where would John have hidden a flag? Trevor lifted his sunken eyes to the trees, scanning the branches for a piece of cloth that could be hanging over one or dangling from the leaves. Trevor frowned quietly, staring down at his feet and his torn up shoes. He felt exhausted. He'd hardly gone far enough out into the forest for any flags to show up. With a quiet whimper to himself, he trudged on, his eyes tearing up now and then as he realized that, even if he found a flag, he felt so faint he might not make it back in time. The thought made his chest hurt and his stomach cramp. This was a terrible idea. He should have just stayed where he was familiar, in that little patch of forest he explored for food, the forest that he could get back to his home in without maybe dying.
A sigh passed through him, making his sides heave. Just keep moving. He could do this. Have hope. He glanced up to check his path, moving along a deer-trail in a quiet shuffle. He took a glance around, a sheet of fluttering white catching his eye. A... flag. A flag. An actual smile creased his eyes and he let out a squeal of joy. He found one. "I found one," he breathed, feeling tears burn at his nose. He did it. He did something right!
Faster than he probably should have, being so weak, he scrambled towards it, stuck in the ground near some bushes between a set of trees. From a distance, he carefully observed the area. Nobody else was around to take it from him... he'd actually done it. His smile widened, his slightly crooked teeth brightening his face. As awkward as a newborn fawn, he staggered towards it, tripping over a couple brambles. One more stumble, and he had his hand on it, and there was a snap somewhere ahead of him.
Pain shot up his spine, warmth flooding through his torso. He squeaked, his body suddenly freezing up in shock. For a few moments, while the adrenaline started pouring into his system, he couldn't move, staring at the place where a whip trap once stood prepared. Two very short sicks, sharpened at the end, had found their way into his stomach. They didn't seem long enough to cause any real damage, but they'd torn.
He stared down at himself, letting the flag drop and reaching down to push the branch away with surprisingly steady hands and strong arms. With a careful step, he let the branch whip itself back into it's previous position, leaving Trevor with a couple two inch deep puncture wounds, bleeding profusely into his shirt and waistline. They weren't big at all. If anything, they were like metal nails... were they? He looked, dazed and eyes glazed over, at the stick. Yeah. Yeah they were. He... hell, he had to get back. HE picked the flag off of the stick and holding it to his stomach, wanting nothing more but to stop the bleeding... god, these weren't going to heal. His body wasn't equipt with the food source to handle this.
All the same, the adrenaline made his mind sharp. Home. He turned and started forward, his steps strong and his hands working a knot in the flag, creating a bandage that wasn't exactly dying the flag, but staining it. Honestly, it was the last thing on his mind. He pushed through the forest, following the vague sound of people laughing and the smell of some fire somewhere.
Soon enough, he pressed himself through into the city, looking around him in silence. John. Go back to John. John will help. He turned and let out a soft whimper. Halfway back the pain had started coming through, and it was making him shake again, his entire body pale and sickly looking. He stepped into the clearing, and fiddling with the knot, shuffling like he were half-dead over to John. He carefully pulled the flag off of his stomach and held it out to him. "I-I... I-I'm s-sorry I-I got blood on it," he shuttered, before turning and finding himself a place to sit, his hands on his stomach as he searched for the little box of cotton fabric he had. He pulled out a strip, and found some sap to stick it to his skin, holding the cloth over the wound without him having to touch or tie it. That would... help. He'd be fine. He sighed, hunching over himself and trying to come to terms with the entire thing... had John... had John put that trap there...? Trevor wasn't sure what to think. He wanted so badly for John to be a good person... but that trap hurt. Surely John wasn't responsible. Trevor refused to believe it.
// wewe no good way to end it
1069 Words