Snippet #2702727

They had been making decent progress since the morning began. Ash turned to weeds, parched and yellow, weeds turned to scrub, and scrub steadily gave way to well and proper thickets. Nothing impressive by any means, but it was enough to offer some reprieve from the sun, which had become harsh and stifling as the day went on. Twice, Epsilon had noted the rustle as a rabbit or some other rodent darted out of sight, and Delta had pointed out a batch of naturally growing fungus at the base of a fallen log. A good sign. Even if they were just passing through, the soil was rich, and they could easily add to their stock if they so desired. Plus, unless there was a plant Gifted hiding somewhere, a place like this meant freshwater, which was precious.

Some ways into their trek, a new sound began to rise over the leaves rustling and the local wildlife screaming for someone to come and fuck them: voices. The two immediately stopped where they were, melting into what foliage the forest offered. They waited there for several minutes, and, once enough time passed to satisfy her, Epsilon quietly raised a hand and ushered the other forward. They crept a bit further, avoiding the visibly drier leaves scattered across the ground, and from there, observed.

It was a boy, as the voice had told. A young one, too, by the looks of it, probably around Delta’s age. He was leaning over something- no, someone. A girl. Recognition spiked through Delta, and, as the younger of the two women turned towards the other, she saw that she didn’t need to tell Epsilon- there was a pleasant sort of surprise in her face, and, upon meeting Delta’s gaze, she signed, Guess we didn’t need that note after all.

Of course, it was always possible that it was a shifter, Epsilon mused. Then proceeded to walk into view anyway, tread purposefully heavy. One hand moved to usher Delta behind her- much to the teen’s annoyance- and the other, her left, produced a toothpick from her pocket.

“That you, Crys?” She spoke loudly; a booming, hearty kind of tone. “Didn’t think we’d be seeing any familiar faces all the way outt’ere.” She did not acknowledge Crystal’s position, nor the boy beside her. The most Epsilon did to show she was even aware of the stranger’s presence was a brief look over, and little else.

Delta, however, did the exact opposite. She had nodded towards their trade partner, given an almost awkward wave, but her eyes remained affixed on the boy. There was a certain wariness about her, similar to that of a wild animal trying to determine a threat, and, combined with the shoddiness of her clothes and sloppy cut of her hair, the resemblance only grew. While she had developed enough of a trust of Crystal to not answer the door with a crowbar in hand (purposefully, of course. Old habits die hard), Delta was a wastelander. Anyone unfamiliar was a threat and then some, with little exception.

Beside her, Epsilon idly picked her teeth, trying to get at a particularly stubborn scrap of food lodged there.