All of Combeferre hurts. His head and shoulders ache with all the residual bruises from the plane crash. His ankle hurts where he tripped over a particularly large tree branch low to the ground. His legs ache from trudging over hostile terrain. And he was sweating like a pig in the muggy jungle air.
"At least none of the other plane survivors followed us," he said as he stretched out on a pile of leaves. Combeferre didn't expect to see poison ivy here, per se, but he was still glad for the long cargo pants. He declined to follow Bahorel's example, despite how hot and sweaty he's become, because he's sure there's nasty jungle insects waiting to bite his bare skin. Having a shirt stuck to hot and sweaty skin may be uncomfortable but Combeferre is firmly certain that it's better than bug bites and rashes from poisonous plants.
Hauling out the water bottles from his pants pockets, he offers them to his friends. The water isn't even slightly cool anymore, what with the humidity and the proximity to his skin, but water is water. But as soon as he does so, Combeferre catches sight of the child.
"Who are you?" he calls out, uncertain if this is a lost child or a manifestation of the spirits, a mirage designed to drive them mad or at least astray. Combeferre wouldn't doubt that perhaps some native tribes lived here, but still the child shouldn't be wandering out here alone even if she did live here.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2013-05-06 01:57 am (UTC)"At least none of the other plane survivors followed us," he said as he stretched out on a pile of leaves. Combeferre didn't expect to see poison ivy here, per se, but he was still glad for the long cargo pants. He declined to follow Bahorel's example, despite how hot and sweaty he's become, because he's sure there's nasty jungle insects waiting to bite his bare skin. Having a shirt stuck to hot and sweaty skin may be uncomfortable but Combeferre is firmly certain that it's better than bug bites and rashes from poisonous plants.
Hauling out the water bottles from his pants pockets, he offers them to his friends. The water isn't even slightly cool anymore, what with the humidity and the proximity to his skin, but water is water. But as soon as he does so, Combeferre catches sight of the child.
"Who are you?" he calls out, uncertain if this is a lost child or a manifestation of the spirits, a mirage designed to drive them mad or at least astray. Combeferre wouldn't doubt that perhaps some native tribes lived here, but still the child shouldn't be wandering out here alone even if she did live here.