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

The Island [XX]

Three scores. The bark split painfully like skin, the tree's flesh damaged beneath. Sap oozed down its surface in a similar fashion to blood. Slate's hand guided her own to the injured tree's surface. 'Tell me what it's from.'

"Bobcat.." she articulated, allowing her digits to run over the reasonably deep gashes. Krissa scrunched up her face. The male grunted gently in his throat. Rain quietly fell around them. 'Marking its turf, stretching its claws.'

Slate shifted beside her and nodded his massive head. His hand drew away from her own. 'What else?'

Thunder rumbled softly in the clouds above the canopy. The ravenette took a deep breath in, her eyes slowly washing over the surrounding trees. The meadow was rocky and the land uneven, trees blocking out the gunmetal light above. Krissa inhaled deeply, shifting her legs up under herself. "A male. He sprayed .." she trailed, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

'Two days ago-- old,' the ape answered, finishing her sentence for her. Krissa sighed deeply, wilting slightly. Noticing her dwindling confidence, the chinobo chuffed soothingly. 'You're learning fast. Just need to focus more.'

Krissa nodded and nibbled on her bottom lip. Silence fell and she trailed her fingers over the claw marks once again. Her nail began to dig into the soft, spongy bark, deeper and deeper, until she suddenly felt something lodge itself up into her nail bed. Grunting, she drew away quickly, the splinter in her skin throbbing painfully. Having noticed her sudden distress, Slate's hand shot out. The male snatched hold of her wrist and drew it up to his eyes, examining her injured finger. Nostrils flaring, the male let out a huff, which she felt ghost across her chilled cheeks. Instead of scolding her however, he proceeded to remove the short piece of wood that stuck out of her skin. With a toss, the splinter went flying, leaving only a small bead of blood. The pain.. she couldn't feel it. Tilting her head up to his own, their gazes met and the air stirred between the two.

His breath was hot on her freckled face.

✧ ✧ ✧

Air.

The ravenette attempted to sign someone's name-- anybody's name-- but somehow muddled her letters, combining both Sparrow and Maurice's name into one incoherent mess. The distinct chemical tang of sanitizer filled her nostrils and pooled in her lungs. The first thing she noticed was the peeling paint on the ceiling. Crisp linen caught her rough, dirty fingers. Krissa's eyes drifted downward to study the surface beneath her touch. Her tanned hands were scuffed up and tacky with crimson, her nails caked in deep red. Initially the ravenette planned to sit up, but as soon as she moved upright, her head ached something awful and she had to lay back down. Krissa's lips parted, but each time she attempted to move her swollen vocal chords, they tightened painfully. Why couldn't she speak? Her neck felt as if she had just fallen upon it several times over, muscles strained and tense. Rolling her head upon it's joint, she could feel something tight restricting her and immediately brought her fingers to the source of her irritation. Thick cotton wrapped around Krissa's slender neck, the gauze creating a barrier between the outside air and the deep laceration left behind by the sharp blade of a spear.

Slowly, she pulled herself forward, carefully resting her back propped up against the goose-down pillow at her back. Krissa's chartreuse eyes washing over her surroundings, taking note of where she was exactly. The walls were covered in parchment wallpaper, decorated with pink and red blossoms with worn green stems, and supple leaves. Yellowed and fragile it was, most likely from years of smoking. That, or simply from age. Her hands drifted out and she ran her nails over its smooth surface. She had almost forgotten what a wall had felt like. Beside her was a table with a kerosene lamp, the smell of its fuel pummelling her senses with its strong perfume. How had she gotten here? What could she remember?