Not Like You (The Simian Forest Saga: Vol. I)

The Book [II]

Krissa was engrossed within the pages of old English literature, her hungry mind eating up every bit of information that she could. She would often act bits and pieces out as well whilst nose-deep in the story, simply for exercise and her own entertainment. There she stood, atop the mossy log she had used for a bench during the evening, book in on hand; the breeze caressed the skin bared by her crop top and her slender legs clearly exposed as her ragged skirts fluttered in the wind. Her voice was full of feigned terror and anguish. "Blood hath been shed ere now, i' th' olden time, /Ere humane statute purged the gentle weal; /Ay, and since too, murders have been performed /Too terrible for the ear. The time has been..." Krissa wandered down along the bark, her toes digging into the spongy surface, heels hovering over her stage. Turning, her hand fell and she began to work off book, having performed this many of times. "That, when the brains were out, the man would die, /And there an end. But now they rise again /With twenty mortal murders on their crowns /And push us from our stools. This is more strange /Than such a murder is."

For a moment, she stared off into the distance, as if entranced, before finally she snapped out of it. Krissa cleared her throat and blinked furiously, glancing among her companions. Bending down with grace, she picked up herself a stone and raised it as if to make a toast. "I do forget. /Do not muse at me, my most worthy friends. /I have a strange infirmity, which is nothing /To those that know me. Come, love and health to all. /Then I'll sit down. Give me some wine," she recited. Krissa raised her glass and her gaze washed over the invisible crowd before herself, as if surrounded by attentive men in luxurious robes. "Fill full!" Her eyes fell upon the rock. Breaking character, she solemnly peered at the inanimate object which was definitely not a chalice of wine, and her hand lowered. Sighing softly, she tossed the stone off into the ferns and turned, settled down upon the musty log beneath her. The texture was fairly damp from the rain the night before, but she didn't mind. It was cool and welcomed in this summer heat. Thankfully the bugs weren't as bad today. Glancing around her surroundings, she took in her camp, noting that the trip wires hidden off in the foliage were still intact, given how they peered slightly out of the greenery. Her clothes were drying up on the leaf-littered tarp above the shady entrance of her little cave, the fire-pit a pile of ashes and the grass trampled from her constant travel.

Perhaps she needn't move after all...

If she needed, she could flee and return within a day or so. It wouldn't be hard... at least she didn't think so. Krissa knew that this would most likely end badly, just as it had when she was living closer to the city, but she had to take risks at times. The river was both her source of water and food, for if she traveled an hour along it heading west, there was a pool that teemed with fish. Krissa had never been a big fan of fish, but hey.. Food was food. She'd eat anything at this point- more or less. Her hazel eyes delved down and fell upon the pages of her copy of Macbeth, continuing the little performance in her head. The wind seemed to pick up, rustling the trees.

Sunshine dappled along her back and wispy curls, catching her chartreuse eyes as they ghosted over the words. She had always imagined Macbeth's voice as her own father's, her mother's voice as the power-hungry Lady Macbeth, although the character never necessarily caught the leadership and strength she had gained from the woman who had brought her into this world. Swallowing, she flipped the page, her hand gracing to the stone she had treasured so much. Krissa enjoyed how the dips and crevices, as well as its worn smooth surface felt under her touch, relishing the memories it held. Her hand stilled and she swallowed gently. It wasn't that she was being dragged from her novel by the rather emotional memories.

It was the feeling of being watched.

Krissa's attention turned up and she allowed her gaze to wash over the ferns, as she would usually do in this type of situation. It wasn't as if she was expecting to see anything aside from perhaps an inquisitive bird or even a rabbit. As she tilted her head and adjusted herself, she found her eyes landing upon a primitive head and a massive muscular body crouched within the fronds. Jolting, her heart flew up into her nose. She hadn't seen him for days and had thought he had lost interest. At first Krissa's hand released the stone dangling from her neck and slowly traveled to the knife strapped to her exposed thigh. There was a moment as nothing seemed to happen. The simian simply observed her from a way off with his relentless tawny depths. She recalled the nature documentaries where scientists would sit off a ways from the creatures and study their behavior in the name of research, their big bulky cameras seeming to not bother the animals. As she had watched these situations on television, Krissa remembered how fascinating it had all been at the time, seeing how humans could comfortably sit a few feet away from these primates without worry that they would become violent.