02-24-2020, 01:23 PM
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Sweat clung to thick ruddy fur as the youngest horseman plodded aimlessly over dunes, each pant heaved from lolling jaws steaming the inner panes of his mask's lenses just that much more. Unlike the jargon-speaking creatures he shadowed, his body, while able to endure harsh winters and scavenge through snow, simply was not designed to withstand unbearable heat. Yet an inability to verbally express his misery and tendency to drool upon the sight of anyone edible left him alone in his battle to keep cool.
Nikolai fanned himself with a broad paw, sprawled beneath the minimal shade of creosote and brittlebush with his mask perched atop his face, bottom straps unbuckled for the sake of not suffocating within the silicone oven. Even after all the hell he endured, he was going to succumb to the warmth of a sun he ached for when he worked in the ГУЛАГ. Well... at least he would not have to obey Him anymore.
Voices pricked bearish ears, the vocabulary meaningless to him yet intriguing nonetheless. His mouth watered -- no. No eating others. He shook his head, licking shredded lips dryly to collect any saliva lost as though he could wet his throat with it. The chatter drifted awfully close; he fastened the lower straps, huffing into the muzzling filter of his gas mask before shoving himself to approach, a wobbly limp still in his gait as he recovered from his incident at the swamp's border.
A curious setup was discerned through fogged lenses, his single eye scanning over the unfamiliar and modern luxuries reserved for заможні. A prisoner did not deserve such amenities. But he worked beneath a new force now, free to act as he pleased as long as he did not tug at the untended leash.
His pale sight flitted to gleaming blades -- recognizable yet lacking any word besides ножиці to associate. The wolverine slumped, folding one arm beneath his sweat-soaked chest and lifting a white claw to trace a message in the sand. A sun, its rays uneven and circle deformed, next to a sad face, its right eye replaced with an 'x'. He gestured to his shaggy flank, then to the blades and back to himself. Nikolai glanced to the keeper of the supplies, bowing his head in wait to see if his hieroglyphs and charades were understood.
Nikolai fanned himself with a broad paw, sprawled beneath the minimal shade of creosote and brittlebush with his mask perched atop his face, bottom straps unbuckled for the sake of not suffocating within the silicone oven. Even after all the hell he endured, he was going to succumb to the warmth of a sun he ached for when he worked in the ГУЛАГ. Well... at least he would not have to obey Him anymore.
Voices pricked bearish ears, the vocabulary meaningless to him yet intriguing nonetheless. His mouth watered -- no. No eating others. He shook his head, licking shredded lips dryly to collect any saliva lost as though he could wet his throat with it. The chatter drifted awfully close; he fastened the lower straps, huffing into the muzzling filter of his gas mask before shoving himself to approach, a wobbly limp still in his gait as he recovered from his incident at the swamp's border.
A curious setup was discerned through fogged lenses, his single eye scanning over the unfamiliar and modern luxuries reserved for заможні. A prisoner did not deserve such amenities. But he worked beneath a new force now, free to act as he pleased as long as he did not tug at the untended leash.
His pale sight flitted to gleaming blades -- recognizable yet lacking any word besides ножиці to associate. The wolverine slumped, folding one arm beneath his sweat-soaked chest and lifting a white claw to trace a message in the sand. A sun, its rays uneven and circle deformed, next to a sad face, its right eye replaced with an 'x'. He gestured to his shaggy flank, then to the blades and back to himself. Nikolai glanced to the keeper of the supplies, bowing his head in wait to see if his hieroglyphs and charades were understood.