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

The Malevolent [XXII]

The lake was still as glass, the sunshine warming Krissa's back as she stood idle upon her little boat, staring off in the direction of the Oasis. Water pooled in the corner of the wooden floor, the shadows of fish beneath the murky depths occasionally distracting her. She had taken to her own, becoming a bit of a black sheep within the group of survivors. There were perhaps fifteen others, all working together in order to sustain themselves. Winter would be around soon, meaning snow, as well as a lack in natural resources such as water and food. Nic always seemed so busy, although he always made time for her at the end of each night, coming to visit her within her makeshift home in an old rickety two-story dock-side house. The walls felt hollow and almost suffocating in comparison to the woven walls of Poppy and Slate's house.

Each morning she would rise before the sun and listen to see if she could hear their distant calls. The faint aroma of wood-smoke would occasionally drift through her windows, stirring memories that still remained fresh within Krissa's mind. The once disturbing cries and hoots that drifted over the surface of the lake in the evening and during the wee hours were welcomed by her and her alone, seeing as the rest of the survivors on the island were horribly eerie in their opinion. Krissa was often left alone because of how backwards they viewed her, but this did not bother her in the slightest. She could disappear and return from the back-country whenever she felt like it, all the while going unnoticed. The terrain was new and thus sparked her curiosity, evidently giving her a home away from, well, "home."

Home. It was a foreign word to her now; she missed the mountains, she missed the woods, she missed their warmth and their intimacy. Krissa would often reflect on her own wistfulness toward San Francisco and her father, and couldn't help but feel... incomplete. Her world had been torn apart, twice now. The ravenette was up in the air, hovering. Where was she to land now? Her teeth sank into the soft flesh of one of the last pears of the season and she began to chew on the supple meat within. It was tart and sweet. She took a deep breath and shifted, legs crossed as she kept her eyes upon the shoreline. An alarm call. Were they hunting? Most likely. It sounded as if they were excited. It was that time of year, she assumed, that they would be stocking up on food just as they were.

Taking a deep breath, Krissa tilted her head up to the sky above. She had a boat, so why not just head back home? That was a very good question. Here, with her kind, she was welded to the ground with Nic at her side. She no longer travelled with a bow, she carried a pistol. She wore clothes which were not her own, although kept her old hunting clothes... and best of all, she had stopped keeping her hair short. Krissa's dark curls had grown an inch since she had last been around the ape tribe, their ends now reaching her shoulders. Life was routine. Wake up, sit outside, wander through the trees and miss the thick emerald moss; then she would head back for dinner, spend some time with Nic on the porch, listening to the ways, say goodnight and head in to bed. She had taught the man the basics of sign, which helped with their language barrier-- it made it all the more better with his amount of patience.

Pulling her sweater up over her head, she set down her snack and shimmed out of her shorts, socks and boots. Refusing to bother with her father's arrowhead and stone that hung from the twine around her neck, she stood up on the edge of the boat, took a deep breath, and then dove beneath the water. Her entire body stiffened, the air held within her lungs punching at her wounded throat. The stitches were still there, an obvious scab left from where Pine's spear had severed the skin, but she was beginning to grow accustomed to the pain.

The ravenette dove down to the bottom, feeling her finger brush the gooey sand, a fish darting away from her in sudden alarm. Nothing but water weeds and rocks were visible, yet it was nonetheless serene and tranquil beneath. If she weren't holding her breath, Krissa would have smiled. Her lungs began to urge her up to the surface, and although reluctant, she complied. Kicking up, she made a quick ascent and then broke through, gasping softly for the air she so urgently needed. Krissa began to tread water, pushing herself further and further from her boat with no fear of the depths growing deeper and deeper beneath her. The cold air nipped at her moist skin, her teeth chattering softly.