°[it had been, ugh, he couldn't even tell how long, that his compass had been broken, he had gotten all twisted around in that dust storm that he couldn't tell where in the world he was going, and the terrain kept changing on him, suddenly, sharply, one way then another, he was about to admit defeat and lay down to let the buzzards pick him apart when he spotted someone, at first he thought it was someone he knew, but there were a lack of tattoos, considerably darker, and a lack of his dirty-blond haired companion, but either way he pressed onwards and gave a wave]°
"excuse me, sir! Can I ask if you have a compass on hand? Or at least any way to fix one?"
Charles had done chores all morning; he'd cut wood, he'd fixed the wheel, he carried haybales around, and frankly, his body arched. It ached so bad that even sitting down in a chair hurt. So he had went for a little walk, it helped him calm down, but his poor legs.
He ended up leaning against a tree, closing his eyes and thinking to himself. Thinking about upcoming things, how much longer he could endure all this, how much the gang could endure. How much the tribes could endure. It was all a mess.
His thoughts were interrupted by a unfamiliar voice, but a familiar prompt. One that made a memory roll in his mind, a certain man asking for a compass. Charles opened his eyes, blinking away the deja vu feeling and looking to the other. Definitely unfamiliar.
He didn't tense though as he usually would the question did well to him. ❝If you have a compass, I can fix it. If you don't, I do have one.❞ he rumbled, eyes taking them in.
