monsters and men

It was awful, truly, wearing another man’s clothes. Especially a man who was so… large… There was a pout to his lips as he fought to roll up the sleeves on the shirt, reminding himself, at least it was clean… cleanish… Gods, he didn’t want to think about it. And as much as he didn’t want to admit it, Sylen was right. It was getting cold, and even he knew it wasn’t a good idea to be wet and cold.

He followed Sylen’s lead at the mention of camp, grumbling his complaints along the way. As the adrenaline started to fade, his wounds started to burn more, and by the time they had finally settled on a camping spot, he collapsed by the fire in a shaking heap. The heat brushed his face as he tucked his knees to his chest, flinching as he attempted to brush the bloodied dirt away from his torn flesh.

He watched as Sylen set the camp together, food and tea and a bedroll. Perhaps he had looked pathetic enough to be offered the one comfortable place to sleep, and he chuckled a little at the sentiment. Or lack thereof, maybe, due to the man’s tone.

“Thank you,” He muttered, quietly, almost drowned out by the crackling of the fire. It was probably the first time he had said those words genuinely, but he had just almost died by an insane jungle creature, so… he could argue he wasn’t in his right state of mind.

It was the promise of making it to civilization that had truly raised his spirits. “Good,” He yawned, slowly kicking off his boots in a futile attempt to not hurt himself more. “I'm ready to get out and stay out. I'm never crossing the jungle again.”