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

The Hunt [VI]

The loud carol of a robin was what drew Krissa from her slumber, her lashes parting and her lids peeling open to lay upon the steaming embers of what had once been a roaring fire. A soft sigh escaped her, the clearing not yet touched by golden rays but instead bathed in a lazy shade of blue. Her chartreuse-hazel gaze then beheld further, falling on the bulky snoozing frame of Slate. The chimp was curled in a partial fetal position, his spear laid within one hand, the other cast carelessly over his snout and eyes. Her heart hiccuped in her chest at first, but she soon recalled the events of the evening before, and calmed herself. Krissa stirred and blinked, her eyelids naturally heavy as she rolled over onto her back where she laid upon her blanket. A shiver ran through her and she hugged herself, gazing up toward the massive, towering trees. After taking a couple of moments to wake herself, she sat up and rubbed her right eye free of sand.

She supposed it was time to take a bath. Getting to her feet, she retrieved a towel. Krissa headed down toward the river at the base of the hill, not particularly thrilled to submerge herself into the freezing body of water. Once reaching the bank, she undressed and waded her way into the crystal-clear chilly depths, teeth chattering as her bare skin was met with the gentle tug of the current. Krissa knelt and then ducked her head under, disappearing for a moment. The water was refreshing, even when it was already cool enough outside. Washing the dirt from her body and her hair, she scrubbed with quick hands and made haste, goosebumps breaking out across her skin. Wrapping her arms around her slender torso, she gazed off across the river, curious of how in the deeper areas she could just make out the shadows of a few fish.

You didn't have to ask Krissa twice to climb out and dry off. The survivor waded back onto shore, letting out gasps as her slick flesh hit the open air. Quickly grabbing the old towel, she dried herself off as fast as possible and finally wrapped herself up. After retrieving her clothes, she darted up the side of the hill, nearly skinning her knees as she crawled under the hanging blankets and into the crawl-space that was her shelter. Unzipping her bag, she went through what few items of clothes she had, stripping herself of her soaked bra and undergarments and exchanging them for new, dry ones. Krissa then tugged her dark grey NASA t-shirt and cuffed the sleeves, tucking it in once she had followed with her father's old jeans before slipping on her socks and lace-ups once more. She then folded the cuffs of the long pants into the lip of the footwear. The woods would become warmer as the day went on, hopefully. Pulling her dark chocolate curls up into a bun, she allowed some of it to hang loose, seeing as they would fall out as she worked; she had a heavy day of labour planned out.

Finally clothed, Krissa ducked under her bow and quiver's strap, and began to attach her knife to her thigh. Her belt was tightened and then cinched closed. The survivor then moved to the exit and parted the blankets that shielded the mouth of the cave, only to jolt in surprise when she met Slate's tawny eyes. Her head met the surface of the ceiling, earning a tiny squeak from her. With a dainty hand, she reached up rubbed the bump, wincing in pain. He really needed a bell. "You're up," she remarked sourly, although more towards the ache in her skull. His wide steely eyes washed over her, intrusive and perplexed, as if he couldn't quite understand what kind of animal she was. Once she was outside, she skirted around the ape and began to make for the river. As she walked, Krissa tilted her head over her shoulder, watching as the primate grew further and further away from her.

"You should go home!" she called to the chimpanzee, clearly busy with other tasks at the time. Pivoting back around, she came to the bank and followed along until she came to the shallowest end. She splashed her way through, the small pebbles crunching beneath her boots. Krissa had only made it halfway through the river when she heard the trees above her rustle, a few chuffs escaping her pursuer. Frowning slightly, she finally made it to the opposite bank and began to head east, stepping over her usual path. Krissa could feel the warm sunshine beginning to bleed through the trees in watery shafts, illuminating the side of her torso facing the burning ball of light. Everything was touched with dew, gleaming in the morning rays. The bird song above was the only sound, aside from the occasional rattle of leaves as (she assumed) Slate kept an eye on her from above. Krissa would occasionally shoot the leering onlooker a peek as he meandered, sometimes closer, sometimes further. Initially he appeared to watched with intent, but the longer she made her way deeper into the woods, he seemed to lose interest and lag behind, before disappearing altogether.