decay is a scent that lingers â one that he hasnât and hopes to never get used to ; something humans shouldnât grow accustomed to. thatâs what they are. human. some times he has to remind himself of that simple fact. after all theyâve done ; all heâs done... itâs proven a more difficult feat than he would have ever thought.
itâs his watch. cold hands rub together and press deep into thin pockets. the jacket heâs wearing is leather. not as warm as heâd like but it does the job ; is good for keeping the bite of cold or other things from his skin, at least. embers smolder, a fire near death. sparks fly up when draws a hand out to pokes at it with a stick, a small flare of warmth. he roots around in his pockets for something to start it up again, well aware that it will cause a beacon of light in the night that fast approaches. he comes up with an old photograph left behind by the former owner of his coat. he doesnât look at their faces ; makes quick work of ripping it into pieces and feeding it to the dying fire with a handful of dry twigs and the last of the wood theyâve collected. heâll need to get more when she wakes.
â„âd for a lil smth smth / @gravityborn
