The sun had set behind thick clouds and the rain had finally ceased, the entire forest filled with the sound of calming crickets and the aroma of crackling wood. Off in the distance, the storm could be heard as it retreated, making its way away from the Simian Forest. Owls gently whistled and giggled, a coyote howling from far off, most likely way down the side of the mountain. The apes could be heard as well, calling into the night as they did … whatever the colony did. The cuts on Krissa's face and arm were still pulsing with heat from the encounter earlier that day. She had managed to clean them as best she could and wrap up the heavier flesh-wound, leaving the cut on her cheek with a few simple band-aids. The young woman prodded the coals of her fire with her coal-stirring stick, watching as ash flew up into the air, glowing bright tangerine and sunny yellow. The warmth resonating from the flames was something comforting; it was cold, even despite the heavy sweatshirt she wore and the jogging yoga pants beneath her dad's old baggy jeans.

Her curls tumbled from beneath her hoot, her free hand tucked within the conjoining pouch on the front of her sweater. Everything the light touched glistened from the afternoon's storm. Krissa's bones were pleasantly lukewarm, even despite her dip in the river after dinner. Her meal had been light, mostly made of roasted squirrel and a protein bar, as well as some hot pine needle tea… because who didn't deserve a piping-hot tin-can of leaf-water? Nestling deeper within her burgundy hoodie, she watched the fire dance and sway to an inaudible song, her tongue gracing gently out over her soft lips. So, her book was gone. She would have to search for another if she could find her way safely to the town over the mountain again. It usually took her a few days to get there, but so long as she wore her darker clothing, she could make it without worry.

The only thing that she could think of that could become a problem was the fact that she did not know where the ape tribe resided, and didn't want to risk stumbling upon them. They would slaughter her. Krissa took a deep breath through her nose and allowed her head to lean back against the log behind her back, peering up at the canopy and the sky above. She needed to remain optimistic… that was the only way she could survive further. For now, her main concern was packing up and figuring where she would head. Head careening, Krissa glanced off toward where her map lay upon one of the rocks, an old compass resting atop the old worn out paper. Maybe the book wasn't something she necessarily needed, but it kept her focused and sharp, as well as reminded her of what life had been before the virus hit. Each time she remembered the virus, she felt a nervous pang within her stomach. Being alive now, even after the final spell of mutation in the disease's genetics, she was immune. There were probably only a handful left on this planet who were like herself, and if it were anything like what had happened where Krissa was, they were also under threat of the apes. Even despite the fact that there were places in these woods that she herself had not explored, there was no possible way that anybody could be within this woods other than herself… she surely would have made contact.

Shifting her weight, she rolled over onto her side and used her arm to cushion the side of her head. Her eyes shut softly and she took a deep breath of the chilly air around her. A frog croaked off by the river, it's usual babbling adding to the evening's song. Krissa missed her father's old guitar. She missed how he would play so quietly and yet be able to fill the entire campsite with such wonderful music. He would play Bob Dylan, or Johnny Cash… even some America. It was something she ached to hear again. As Krissa laid there, her hazel chartreuse gaze hidden behind smooth bronze lids, she felt something stir within her throat. She began to hum a soft tune, the words bouncing around within her head. How many roads must a man walk down/ Before you call him a man? Yes, and how many seas must a white dove sail/ Before she sleeps in the sand? Her throat began to lock up and she stopped herself abruptly, a sudden wave of emotion washing over her.

Brine burned her optics, which evidently caused them to flutter open, the tears dampening her dark lashes. Taking a sharp inhale, she allowed the breath to trail from between her lips, trembling as grief throbbed deep within her hollow chest. The mournful howl of yet another canine drifted faintly from miles away to her ears. It was incredible how far their calls could travel. "Yes and how many times must the cannonballs fly?/ Before they're forever banned?" Krissa's voice was silky and humble. It wasn't the best when quiet, but she could thankfully hold a tune. Of course she was pulling the typical "lonely woman singing her sorrows away in the middle of a forest to keep herself company", but it did calm her. It did. She could still hear her father's husky sonorous voice. Now he could sing, and most nights Krissa thought she could hear him still, on the foggy edges and corners of her dreams. "The answer, my friend… is blowing in the wind. The answer is blowing… in the wind…"

Silence fell once more, the gaps filled with nature's natural ballad. With another deep breath, her brow furrowed and Krissa studied the pyre for a moment longer before she rose from where she was settled on the damp earth and her quilted blanket. Collecting herself, she raised her arms above her head and removed her toque, running a hand through her wavy deep chocolate curls. Tension gathered within her joints in a delicious strain, her small, pleasantly warm body quivering from the effort. As Krissa relaxed, her eyes peeled open and she caught sight of something that caused her body to jerk and her heart to nearly burst from her chest, climb from her throat and run for safety within the ferns on the opposite side of the fallen redwood. Two round balls of light watched her from far off in the dark wood, motionless. She could barely calm her tremulous heart, her lungs taking in quick, short breaths. As her eyes adjusted, she could just make out the silhouette of bulking shoulders and a spear stretching toward the canopy. The creature looked more alien than in daylight.

Before the recent events, Krissa would have simply grabbed for the knife strapped to her thigh, but instead, her hands hovered. One held her hat, the other rested inches from her diaphragm. Her lips parted, but adrenaline clamped down tighly upon her throat, cutting her off before she could speak. The eyes blinked, growing and then narrowing. It was honestly terrifying, seeing the creature stare at her in such a chilling manner. Her onlooker was so human, yet she knew that they were far from that... Krissa's breaths became shallow and small, and before she could think twice about addressing the figure before her, her instincts had failed her. "Slate?" she called gently. The set of reflecting oculars blinked again. "Slate, why are you here?" Did he usually come and spy on her at this hour? Her other hand lowered. Who knew? He could have been around at any time, and come and gone without her even knowing. There was no answer. 'Go home,' she gestured, clearly still sour over his behavior from earlier. 'Go.'

The eyes suddenly moved to the incandescence between the pair. There was a beat, and then they returned to her, and he slowly began to approach. The orange light washed over him, his coriaceous mitts, then his muscular arms, shoulders, and finally his entire body. Chartreuse and bister met auburn and tawny, and the ape settled back upon his haunches, giving her an unreadable expression. Krissa at first wondered if it were perplexity, but she knew better than to assume. In his hand was his spear, and… pressed between his palm and the weapon's staff, a weathered green book. Uneasy, she wanted to step back, but she surely would have tripped and tumbled over the side of the redwood behind her. Hovering, she proceeded to make eye-contact with the simian, shifting her weight slightly. 'What is it?' she asked, her hands moving bluntly. 'Why are you here?' There was a brief moment where something changed behind his illuminated fiery disks; their amber depths something close to liquid honey... never had she seen him in this light before.

Krissa watched as his attention fell to the crackling flames, his nose twitching in disinterest. Frowning, she remained standing for a moment longer, before she slowly returned to where she had been sitting and crouched, settling back on her behind. Her eyes never left the chimpanzee across from her. He wasn't answering any of her questions, but she had to admit… she was glad it had been him and not a stranger. At least she was somewhat accustomed to Slate's presence. The woman's eyes finally fell away and she reached over, prodding at the fire with her stick. She then leaned over and shifted onto her hands and knees. With a great inhale, she blew on the embers and sent ash flying up into the air. A chuff escaped Slate and he moved suddenly, which caused Krissa to reach for her knife and practically throw herself in the opposite direction, her back hitting the slick grass. "Don't!" she asserted. Using her elbow to support herself, she unsheathing her blade and brought it up to her breast in a defensive stance. After the assault from earlier in the afternoon, she was ready to go down swinging. "I'll move, alright? I'll move. You won't see me anymore, and I'll be out of your… fur."

Slate had come to a stop before her, his grip tightening on his spear as she had drawn her knife. The fur along his shoulders began to rise and his burning gaze narrowed. Without much more movement, he reached up with his free hand and retrieved the item he had been carrying. Giving the book a toss, it landed on her legs with a thump. The chimp then pivoted, swayed over a good arm's-length and a half away, before plopped down in front of the campfire. At first, Krissa remained rigid, eyeing him suspiciously. His body language was stiff, yet the survivor couldn't pick out anything threatening… was this some sort of apology? Straightening herself up, Krissa lowered her knife and tilted the cover toward the light. It was a copy of C. S. Lewis's The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe. Her brows rose in surprise. Glancing up toward Slate, she found that his eyes had returned to her, examining the way she looked at the book. "Thank you," she murmured gently, signing as well in order to express her gratefulness. 'It means a lot.'

Allowing her knife to return to it's holster, she took the novel within both her hands and began to read the first few pages, skimming. She then flipped through the entire book to make sure that all the pages were intact and were not damaged. The coyotes cried off in the distance and Slate shifted his weight. 'What happened to my book?' she asked, her hands moving gently through the air. The primate eyed her and then looked away. Was he actually expressing guilt?

"It… broke," he puffed, his voice nearly guttural as he spoke quietly. Krissa felt her heart sink, but then shut the book and allowed it to neatly rest within the crook of her leg. At least she had this one now. It was too bad that he had end up breaking her book, but she couldn't cry over it. She had a lot left of her father's memory… the book had merely been a small item. Krissa could just about hear her father shrug. Things happen, he would have said. "Don't worry about it," she assured, peering at the ape.

His eyes came to meet her own- Slate looked unimpressed. 'I won't,' he signed indignantly.

Krissa just about snorted, a smile lacing her lips. Her head turned away as his lips parted and he chuffed, most likely upset that she was giggling at him. 'Okay, if you say so,' she replied, shrugging her shoulders after. There was a beat, the two allowing the gap to be filled with the first comfortable silence they had ever had. Tucking her legs in and crossing them, Krissa pulled her sleeves over her hands and blew a few curls from her hazel gaze. The burning logs snapped and popped.

"Your… cuts.." Slate's gravelly grunt broke through her thoughts, her head turned in his direction. Her caramel complexion glowed gently in the light. Something in the chimp's expression sent a twinge of compassion through her. She could have sworn she had seen something close to concern flicker within those amber depths of his. 'Face… arm?' Krissa would have fallen out of her chair if she weren't already on the ground. Blinking, she looked him over, scouring his features for any sign of disquiet. His expression had hardened once more.

'Hurts a bit. Better now. I've got a first-aid kit, so it was alright,' replied the survivor, her gaze falling back to the crepitation of the pyre. She quietly recalled the kick she had given him when he had grabbed her. Not only had it startled her, but he had grabbed the hem of her skirt, which had only added onto her alarm. She didn't know what he was capable of, nor what his intentions were. "Just don't go scaring people like that…" Slate shifted his weight where he crouched, spear in hand being rested down next to him, a few puffs escaping him. An owl's eerie cry rang out from somewhere above them. The two cast their heads skyward. Apprehensive, she peeked over at him once her eyes had fallen back to earth. "I'm sorry for kicking you…" she apologized finally.

The ape's head turned down, his darkening eyes and restless movements making his own discomfort crystal clear. So much for apologizing… she thought. Perhaps he wasn't the type to exchange those sorts of courtesies. Returning her attention back to the flames, she pondered for a moment longer, listening to the popping fire and watching the embers slowly die. Krissa allowed her hand to wander along the book's spine, exploring how the cloth felt beneath her dirty fingers. There was another bout of reticence. It seemed as though this ape wasn't as talkative as others she had gone camping with. If she couldn't get him to explain to her why he was here instead of off with the colony, nor get an apology out of him, Krissa decided it was best to change the subject to a more… lighter one. Picking up the book, she shot him a gander, parting the pages. "Once there were four children whose names were Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy," she began aloud, seeming to startle the ape out of his own train of thought. The chimp's skull had risen from where it had been resting in his palm, simply remaining there as still as stone, before he allowed his chin to come to rest upon his extremity again. "This story is about something that happened to them when they were sent away from London during the war because of the air-raids. They were sent to the house of an old Professor who lived in the heart of the country, ten miles from the nearest railway station and two miles from the nearest post office..."

The young woman continued her story, her voice gliding through the words just as a sharp knife would through tender meat. The words fell into place as she began to pick through the beginning of the narrative. As Krissa explained that Lucy was hiding from her siblings during a game of hide-and-seek, yet could not find the back of the wardrobe, she could feel the primate slowly move closer to her. Originally Slate remained out of arm's reach, but then he soon came close enough for her to stretch over and place her hand upon his shoulder. Though of course she wouldn't dare touch him... He was larger than she remembered, his dark coat long and thick and his body broad and muscular. Krissa became wary yet did not break the fluent ribbons of phrase that trailed from her soft lips. She could hear his breathing, hear him grunt gingerly in interest (she hoped) as she began to speak about the Faun finding Lucy in the snow, describing what he looked like and how he carried his umbrella and wore a thick red scarf.

Eventually, her own wariness subsided; she grew more and more relaxed, soon becoming lost in the story itself. She didn't even flinch when Slate ambled up onto the log behind her and skirted by, coming to fall on her opposite side. His hand found the ember-poker and tended the flames, stirring scoria and ash around. A loud pop caused her eyes to jump up, but then her crown fell once more. Krissa had never noticed how tense she would sit while alone, nor how exhausted she was. This was an odd feeling.

This feeling she had only felt while in the company of her father.

Author's Note: Things seem to be getting better between Krissa and Slate. It appears as though they are actually becoming closer. She's a human though, how could the two of them be anything more than enemies? With Maurice knowing as well, how do you think this will turn out?

Thank you for your reviews in the previous chapter- it really does help me to see that people are actually interested! If you haven't left a review yet, then don't be afraid to! I am also accepting PMs from anyone with questions or wish to discuss things on this topic.

Stay tuned for more chapters!