He saw me immediately.
I know he did because he was looking anywhere but here, walking around searching for the noise I'd made but always keeping the tree I was crouched in, in the corner of his eye. It was almost polite, really.
Or at least it would be if I didn't think there was at least a possibility he was trying to lull me into some false sense of security before he took his gun out and tried to do me in. I know- I sound paranoid, even psychotic. But I can't rule it out.
And besides, from all I can gather he might just be the type- reasonably tall, well built, strolling around as if he clearly wasn't trespassing like I was. I couldn't make out anything else; I was a good 40 feet up and the sheer amount of leaves between us obscured his face. I did catch a glimpse of unnaturally dark hair, though, hair that would've gotten me spotted days ago by the guards that patrol these enormous grounds up on 439 East District, had I not hidden my own in a ratty green scarf I'd swiped when I first got snuck in.
He doesn't seem to be coming closer, nor going back inside, so I take this moment to close my eyes. I wince as they sting. Oh god, I must have kept them open a good 4 minutes. I release one cold hand from the branch I'm gripping and press it gently against my eyelids, trying to put everything into order in the systematic manner I'm so comfortable with. Systems mean order, order means solutions, solutions mean escape, and escape means I won't have to face off against anyone in my constantly hungry, exhausted state.
However, my ears stay pricked and I keep the tension in my body steady like a loaded crossbow. Just to be safe. I need active muscles to run and/or attack and I need immediate action.
Let's see now. Ran away. Saw nearby town. Was walking towards said town when came across angry hunter who thought I was whatever species of deer or antelope hang around here. Climbed precariously high fence that bordered seemingly endless expanse of meadows and forest with a few dozen guards walking around with very poor work ethic but very real guns. Have been living off little amounts of stolen food and water supplies, sleeping in trees.
Can't live like this forever, is my concluding thought. No shame in admitting you're spoiled, when you've lived 6 days in the ugly outdoors. My skin is dry, my lips are so cracked I can hardly move them, my hair is stringing together in the greasy ropes, there's a multitude of tiny cuts and splinters over my hands, neck and face, and every part of me is sore from living on branches of various amounts of sturdiness. Oh what I would do for a nice bath, even a bucket of hot water; you know, nothing makes you appreciate the smallest things like-
The crunching of leaves snaps me out of my wallowing and I slam my hand back onto the branch as I snap my eyes open. Oh god. Oh god he's almost directly below me. I wonder how much of me he can see. Not much, hopefully. There's not even much to see to begin with.
I don't mean that in the insecure damsel way. Dear god, no. Why spend so much effort trying to demean yourself in your own head when you could be making concise mental lists.
So here we go. A quick list of reasons this sweater clad strange man shouldn't be able to see me very much, to calm me while i ponder over my options at this point:
I'm small. Small and lean and so very easy to tuck away high in the air.
I'm dressed in dull colors. A full sleeved brown shirt and tan jeans. Practical brown boots that, while sturdy, were not my own and had in fact belonged to one of the guards cabins. They were huge, but not enough for someone to look up and wonder hmm what are those enormous shoes doing 40 feet away from the ground.
Black hair. Long, too. But , as i mentioned, tucked away in a scruffy green scarf.
No jewellry
No glowing yellow eyes or other such eye catching feature
Not making. A single sound. I was barely even breathing.
So yes, by all accounts i should be overlooked. Overlooked and thus be allowed to stay in this forest come cage, keeping me safe and unknown.
Okay, I need to be rational. If he does live here, and thus have any kind of ownership claim on these acres upon acres of lush greenery, I can fit him into the rich, self-obsessed and thus unobservant category. I like categories. This one in particular means he's probably writing me off as some bird.
It's a slim chance, almost nonexistent, and I am fully aware of the fact as I try to cling to it. But I won't. What if he thinks I'm here to kill him. What if he thinks I'm a bird, the perfect bird to shoot and stuff and add to his taxidermy collection.
Oh, it's no use. I'm far too quick to panic, too quick to act on conclusions I've made in the heat of a moment.
Which is why before he has the chance to clear his throat and say something condescending, like "You know, I know you're up there." I already start slipping down from branch to branch, dropping to the ground with what I hope to be cat-like grace but ends up with me getting wobbly and having to drop to my hands and knees on some unforgiving stones a couple yards away from him. Thank heavens for thick pants.
I only give myself a moment to steel my shaking body, to put a firm end to the ragged breathing, before i force myself to stand and direct a standard steely glare his way. Oh no.
An itemized list of the pieces of information I'm gathering about this individual should go as follows:
He's tall. My word, he's tall. I'm so glad I'm far away enough from him that i don't have to crane my already sore neck.
His hair is very black. And his eyes. Its funny, I know eyes that look black are actually brown but his just don't. It's about 3 pm, the sun is up high, even in this October mountain weather. The black should be brown. It feels unnatural.
He really isn't that well built. In his yellow sweater and dark green pants, he's quite slim. No bulk, per se. That's good news for my fatigued state.
He's... He's… Pretty.
Aristocratic features, I mean. His face is all subtle angles and If i had to find a flaw, it'd be that his eyes are a little too bright, a little larger than you'd think.
All in all, he's unsettling. A perfect copy of a human being, some fancy 3d animated character come to life. And it doesn't help that he isn't speaking. He definitely knew i was there all along. He's looking at me, not at all shocked, waiting for me to speak. Well. might as well give him a show. After all, he hasn't shot me yet. Not that i can see a gun, but i suppose it's the principle of the matter.
"So." My voice is both creaky and squeaks from misuse. As i try to swallow, I think of possible second words that minimize the blows to the rapid vanishing of the remains of my dignity.