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Jan. 10th, 2014 06:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
immerdeinSilent steps. This is what Sparrow was good at. She's been hiking on this trail before, not even having to look where she placed her feet as she went further into the woods. This was home, the sights, smells, the feeling of a soft breeze on her face. Birds chirping, bushes rustling with various animals moving through the woods. Normal. This was paradise.
She stopped at a rock outcropping, taking her backpack off and digging for her map and compass. Once this was done, she did her usual mental spiel of what trail to take that day. There were enough supplies in her pack for three days, longer if she rationed her supplies. The people she knew were aware of where she was, and about how long she would be gone, in case she went missing.
Something catches Sparrow's eye, and she ducks down behind the rocks. Orange. Hunters. Hunting wasn't allowed in the animal reserve. You could shoot to defend yourself, but not to kill intentionally. So these hunters were lost, or they could be poachers. She's hoping for the former, and she will set them right if they got close enough. Her clothes are bright enough where she can't be mistaken for a deer or bear. But something didn't feel right.
She took her rifle and laid down flat on the rock, pressing herself down and pulling her hood over her head. There was a disadvantage to being a redhead sometimes. Her scope let her see up to 400 yards away, so she had to adjust it to see the hunters clearly. The first things she notices is the glint of gold in their hands. Beer cans. Typical. Didn't they care that it was illegal to hunt while inebriated? “Idiots... Should have grabbed my phone before leaving,” she muttered to herself, seeing what else she could see. Drunk, staggering, safety's off on their guns, and not a single thing to show for a day of hunting. These guys looked as if they were in a bad mood.
“Right... time to cut this short,” she mutters, sliding off of the rock cropping she was hiding on, grabbing her gear before heading back up the trail towards home. “Maybe there's some new cat videos up...”
Her foot gets caught in a root and she falls hard to the ground. The blow momentarily stuns her, and she closes her eyes. That's when the smell of motor oil hits her. She gags and scrambles up, looking around with wide eyes. This wasn't the forest. This was a garage! With what looked like a gutted frame of a Mustang. Her eyes can't focus on anything. There was too much. Was she unconscious and this was all just some dream? Slowly she gets used to the lack of real light in the room.
Space heater, tools, creepy freezer with plastic wrap and cement bags, washer and dryer... where's the way out?... Stairs! She let's out an explosive breath as she runs to it, losing her footing on the steps and slamming down onto them hard. She tasted blood in her mouth and felt fire in several places. Sparrow lets out a soft whimper before crawling up the rest of the stairs. She feels utterly drained from the adrenaline rush and collapses at the top of the stairs, breathing rapidly. Her pack felt like lead on her back, her lungs were like raspy ovens, her head felt like exploding, and she was sure she bit through her lip. Her instincts tell her that something bad would happen if she kept laying her.
Forcing herself up, she manages to stand shakily, walking into a kitchen without really paying attention to where she was anymore.
She stopped at a rock outcropping, taking her backpack off and digging for her map and compass. Once this was done, she did her usual mental spiel of what trail to take that day. There were enough supplies in her pack for three days, longer if she rationed her supplies. The people she knew were aware of where she was, and about how long she would be gone, in case she went missing.
Something catches Sparrow's eye, and she ducks down behind the rocks. Orange. Hunters. Hunting wasn't allowed in the animal reserve. You could shoot to defend yourself, but not to kill intentionally. So these hunters were lost, or they could be poachers. She's hoping for the former, and she will set them right if they got close enough. Her clothes are bright enough where she can't be mistaken for a deer or bear. But something didn't feel right.
She took her rifle and laid down flat on the rock, pressing herself down and pulling her hood over her head. There was a disadvantage to being a redhead sometimes. Her scope let her see up to 400 yards away, so she had to adjust it to see the hunters clearly. The first things she notices is the glint of gold in their hands. Beer cans. Typical. Didn't they care that it was illegal to hunt while inebriated? “Idiots... Should have grabbed my phone before leaving,” she muttered to herself, seeing what else she could see. Drunk, staggering, safety's off on their guns, and not a single thing to show for a day of hunting. These guys looked as if they were in a bad mood.
“Right... time to cut this short,” she mutters, sliding off of the rock cropping she was hiding on, grabbing her gear before heading back up the trail towards home. “Maybe there's some new cat videos up...”
Her foot gets caught in a root and she falls hard to the ground. The blow momentarily stuns her, and she closes her eyes. That's when the smell of motor oil hits her. She gags and scrambles up, looking around with wide eyes. This wasn't the forest. This was a garage! With what looked like a gutted frame of a Mustang. Her eyes can't focus on anything. There was too much. Was she unconscious and this was all just some dream? Slowly she gets used to the lack of real light in the room.
Space heater, tools, creepy freezer with plastic wrap and cement bags, washer and dryer... where's the way out?... Stairs! She let's out an explosive breath as she runs to it, losing her footing on the steps and slamming down onto them hard. She tasted blood in her mouth and felt fire in several places. Sparrow lets out a soft whimper before crawling up the rest of the stairs. She feels utterly drained from the adrenaline rush and collapses at the top of the stairs, breathing rapidly. Her pack felt like lead on her back, her lungs were like raspy ovens, her head felt like exploding, and she was sure she bit through her lip. Her instincts tell her that something bad would happen if she kept laying her.
Forcing herself up, she manages to stand shakily, walking into a kitchen without really paying attention to where she was anymore.