If The Wild Road Catches Fire - || Levi × Reader ||

|| Ch3 || The Dime In The Old Man's Pocket

The hour began to age like wine, splotches of red decorating the sky as if to imitate droplets of hot candle wax.

The horses hooves would arbitrarily trample over strips of sprightly bluebells that lined the borders of the mountain, the whisps of moonlight dying their petals in a heathered complexion. The wistful glow that reflected onto your face altered your features, moulding and shaping your face like soft clay as you ventured deeper and deeper into the belly of the forest.

Your hands were actively reinforcing their vice grip on the deteriorating leather reigns with each bump up the misshapen road you encountered, only easing up when a smoother terrain was paved beneath you by the timeworn hands of mother nature herself.

You felt like you were being breathed in by the blackened lungs of dereliction, the seams of your body threadbare and plucked apart by esurient fingers painted with zealous desire to watch you curl into the fetal position and give up your seemingly useless search.

To so simple-mindedly set off on a journey to find a madhouse in a forest that stretched acres and acres across the lands was a ridiculous and rash decision.

You had no definite chance of actually bumping into whatever hobos thrived out here.

You could feel the urge to bite your thumb in frustration grow more powerful with each second that dwindled by, leaving you an exhausted and bleary mess.

But just as all hope was sticking a foot in a hastily dug grave, a warm light licked at your cheeks, peering through the webs of branches as you passed by on horseback.

You recognized this kind of light like the back of you're hand, this kind of warmth.

Fire.

The scent of smoked venison shook hands with your scent glands, ushering your attention toward the aroma that made your mouth water with a greedy hunger.

But what you felt more than anything, even more than starvation and the ceaseless growling rumbling in the pits of your stomach, was optimism.

Perhaps it was just a pipe dream to assume this would be anything that proved to be helpful to your search, but the feeling that festered in your gut convinced you to dismount your stead with precaution, swiftly tying the lead into a clove-hitch knot to a firm branch so Beau wouldn't get any funny ideas to run off.

With a few prompt glances toward where the light was birthed, you felt a finger twitch.

And as such, you approached.

The closer you got, the more the scent of herbs and spices patronized you.

A halo of light betrothed your features as you neared, your heart thumping in your throat like a drum.

You hoped and prayed that you weren't stumbling across some poor campers site, gritting your teeth with each abiding step, simultaneously stamping footprints into the moist forest floor.

Your fingertips gracefully tampered with the hem of your sleeve as you started to feel somewhat skittish, wondering if it would be better to just go back and turn yourself in.

After all, the trouble this enthralling little adventure was giving you just might not be entirely worth it.

But alas, your boot weighed down upon a branch, snapping the body of it like a bug and disallowing you to divulge in your second guessing.