it’s an automatic reaction. something snapping into place the instant he hears his name - a short, sharp syllable that commanded attention. more a default, years of responsiveness honed to an almost pavlovian edge. however, all of those years in service, moss hadn’t just been taking orders, he’s been giving them too.
and one of the things about not talking much is that you tended to spend more time listening.
yeah. he notices that. wonders what those unspoken words might have been. sure, he could hazard a guess, but what was the point in that… shooting blindly meant you could be way off the mark and you’d never know it. he’s also used to - not - pressing people. if they had something to say then they’d say it or they wouldn’t. it was really that simple.
he does, however - unfold himself from where he’s sat, shifts to the entrance of the tent and steps out - that biting wind apparent the moment he does so.
❝ – not a lot that will insulate when it’s soaking wet. there’s a high risk of rapid onset hypothermia. ❞
even with body heat and some semblance of a fire - which was more of a smoking pile of damp logs right now.
not a criticism, just a simple observation. moss was used to surviving in… hostile environments. whereas some of the people out here hadn’t so much as spent a moment of inconvenience their whole lives. he’s just… speaking from experience. yes it might be dangerous to move a group in the dark, in the storm, but there might not be anyone left to move if they waited too long. people tended to underestimate things like the elements, simple things like the effects of lack of sleep or fatigue. even the basics could be deadly.
❝ – right now, walkers are not the biggest problem. the optimum chance for minimal – casualties – is to move to more substantial cover. ❞
luck - had nothing to do with it. it’s not something moss believes in. luck, karma, whatever. because if he did, then surely he’d already be dead. it’s a slice of advice, working with what he knows, but – he’s not leading this group. he’s just here to play a part, and if this is it, then he’ll do as he’s asked. one hand reaches back into the tent and he’s snagging his rifle, pulling the strap over one shoulder - giving a small nod in agreement.
❝ – if you’re not back in twenty four hours and this shows no sign of letting up - i’ll need a direction to start moving people in. so, which way you headed? ❞
Matthias nodded at Moss’s observation, satisfied with hearing the opinion without being challenged. “You’re not wrong,” He said, looking towards the tents scattered around the smoldering fire pit.
“The lining on the bottom of the tents are the most waterproof--I’d suggest, once everyone is huddled in one tent--” These tents could comfortably fit five people, he reasoned with himself. Although he was aware his thought of the word “comfortably” very liberally. “--Get the kid or whoever seems strong enough, drape yourselves in what you can salvage from the tents’ linings and use the bases to reinforce the main tent against the rain.”
He looked back to the soldier. He didn’t know him like he knew Caiden and trusting him was a leap. But necessary. He had to trust. It was a dangerous thing, yet he knew he had to do it. “Do you think that’s something you’d be able to organize?"
As Moss asked what to do if they weren’t back in twenty-four hours, Matthias’s face went grim. “Don’t wait past noon. Caiden, Tate, and I are heading west and will move quickly. I hope to return before sunrise.” The idea of losing the group was upsetting, although Matthias was - hopefully- leaving them in the most capable hands.
