Serenity
"There is no former in a friend with strength."
He wasn't where he was supposed to be.
Wherever "here" was, it wasn't where he was supposed to be.
It was the kind of oblivion that forced one to wake up reluctantly, groggily and with a mountain of cotton inside one's head. It was the kind of waking that left a sense of detachment and distance in the mind.
Renne lay wrapped in his furs and holding his candle for a while to let the thick cotton in his mind let up.
Wen it did, it did so with the force of a squall.
He wasn't where he ought to be.
Beginning to panic, Renne squirmed out of his furs and let out a confused chirp. Testing the waters. Testing if his mind were playing tricks on him.
He heard a slight echo.
Prison cells don't echo.
It was then when the fear hit him cold in the face.
He put his candle into a safe place in his pocket and started crawling. Yeti furs draped over him, he crawled with two goals in mind.
Find out where in blazes he is and how to get back to where he's supposed to be.
And the Hunter started to chuckle in the back of his mind.
--------------
He was getting nowhere.
Unnerved, Renne kept crawling until he heard the steady lapping of water against something solid. It wasn't ideal -- far from it -- but it was as close as he could get for now.
It was the best he could do until he figured out where he was, how he got there and how to get back to where he was before.
Before.
The Hunter chuckled again.
Before what?
He shook it off and searched for something on the ground. He found it in a small pebble.
The rock went into his mouth to be pulverised by his teeth and a small addition of stage two venom. The rock became a hot paste, then a liquid.
A few breaths later, it became a growing bubble.
An hour later, it became a hardened, glass-like container.
It was desperation that drove him on.
For what?
To get back to before.
Before when?
Before.
To survive.
Before.
Another hour later, the container held a scrawled message of panic within its walls. That next hour later, the bottle was sent wherever it would go.
Rolling along solid ground or drifting out across the sea. It didn't matter.
It didn't matter as long as it got somewhere and the cry was heard.
It didn't matter as long as he was understood.
"There is no former in a friend with strength."
He wasn't where he was supposed to be.
Wherever "here" was, it wasn't where he was supposed to be.
It was the kind of oblivion that forced one to wake up reluctantly, groggily and with a mountain of cotton inside one's head. It was the kind of waking that left a sense of detachment and distance in the mind.
Renne lay wrapped in his furs and holding his candle for a while to let the thick cotton in his mind let up.
Wen it did, it did so with the force of a squall.
He wasn't where he ought to be.
Beginning to panic, Renne squirmed out of his furs and let out a confused chirp. Testing the waters. Testing if his mind were playing tricks on him.
He heard a slight echo.
Prison cells don't echo.
It was then when the fear hit him cold in the face.
He put his candle into a safe place in his pocket and started crawling. Yeti furs draped over him, he crawled with two goals in mind.
Find out where in blazes he is and how to get back to where he's supposed to be.
And the Hunter started to chuckle in the back of his mind.
--------------
He was getting nowhere.
Unnerved, Renne kept crawling until he heard the steady lapping of water against something solid. It wasn't ideal -- far from it -- but it was as close as he could get for now.
It was the best he could do until he figured out where he was, how he got there and how to get back to where he was before.
Before.
The Hunter chuckled again.
Before what?
He shook it off and searched for something on the ground. He found it in a small pebble.
The rock went into his mouth to be pulverised by his teeth and a small addition of stage two venom. The rock became a hot paste, then a liquid.
A few breaths later, it became a growing bubble.
An hour later, it became a hardened, glass-like container.
It was desperation that drove him on.
For what?
To get back to before.
Before when?
Before.
To survive.
Before.
Another hour later, the container held a scrawled message of panic within its walls. That next hour later, the bottle was sent wherever it would go.
Rolling along solid ground or drifting out across the sea. It didn't matter.
It didn't matter as long as it got somewhere and the cry was heard.
It didn't matter as long as he was understood.