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Grizzly_Mang
Planetoid
- Joined
- Jul 22, 2015
- Location
- Central Florida
The sunlight had been warm and flooded the forest like a sea of golden honey before they had crossed over to the other side of the wall, now, a few meters back into the brush the branches of the canopy above weaved and twisted themselves into a thick blanket the strangled the solar rays into thin strands of gold spidersilk strewn throughout the wood. A breeze moaned as it snaked it's way through the trees, and the wind sent chills down Byron's spine as he tromped through the thick foliage in search of the little black dog who lead him into the woods. He shivered, and though he was from Florida and expected the weather in the small town of Wilaby to be cooler than he was used to, he decided that no matter where you were in America no wind in July should be as freezing as it was on the otherside. He grunted as he hacked away at thorny thickets that seemed to be growing up right in front of him with his large pocket knife.
He cursed his parents for bringing him up to Wilaby instead of leaving him home to hangout with his friends. He cut his arms a little as he cleared a path, and Byron couldn't shake the feeling that he and his companion were doomed. He couldn't name the feeling, but a sick churning in the pit of his stomach, no, that wasn't right... more like the pit of his soul told him that he should turn back. He was normally an outdoorsman, but that was in the wilds of Florida, and this forest felt strange and aggressive, like the whole place was hunting him.
Another wind moaned and the boy shivered, stopping and turning back to face the companion he was both worried and thankful he had. "Hey, uh... I'm sorry, I forgot your name," he confessed, staring back at the stranger. "But how're you holding up? I'm, uh... I'm thinking we should turn around, maybe head back to that crappy little library. What do you think?"
He cursed his parents for bringing him up to Wilaby instead of leaving him home to hangout with his friends. He cut his arms a little as he cleared a path, and Byron couldn't shake the feeling that he and his companion were doomed. He couldn't name the feeling, but a sick churning in the pit of his stomach, no, that wasn't right... more like the pit of his soul told him that he should turn back. He was normally an outdoorsman, but that was in the wilds of Florida, and this forest felt strange and aggressive, like the whole place was hunting him.
Another wind moaned and the boy shivered, stopping and turning back to face the companion he was both worried and thankful he had. "Hey, uh... I'm sorry, I forgot your name," he confessed, staring back at the stranger. "But how're you holding up? I'm, uh... I'm thinking we should turn around, maybe head back to that crappy little library. What do you think?"