You thought I abandoned this puppy, didnt ya? It's back, though like everything else I make no promises about updates. Enjoy
His own internal clock awoke him, with the beginnings of dawn filtering through the dust that covered his window. Nothing bright, but since his pocket watch died he had grown used to noting the slightest changes that marked the day drawing to its close, or it's start.
He lurched upright, and smoothly slid from his bed, beginning his morning ritual without truly thinking to do so.
Start his fire, dress as he waited for the water to boil, pour himself a cup of coffee and sit on his porch.
The drink didn't do much to wake him anymore, and his mother would've likely made him stop had he been on the home front, but he was far too accustomed to the time to stop now. His hand itched, and he absently picked at the scar.
The season was starting to change, the blistering heat of summer falling away to be replaced by an equally inhospitable winter. He needed more stock, to withstand it.
He had been stockpiling for the past couple months, of course, but food had been a bit scarce, and he suspected that the deer and other game were catching on to his traps. Glimmering steel wasn't exactly subtle.
They had been well worth the cost though, had gotten him this far. Maybe he could try his hand at painting them…
Cup empty, he slipped back inside, not stopping a pace to drop it into a bucket of water as he get ready for the day.
Some hardtack, a can of beans, his canteen, and some jerky to last him his work, and some other supplies for fishing and snares.
His revolver was a comforting weight on his hip, and his lever-action equally so in his hands. With one more check to make sure he had everything he needed, he slipped back into the chill morning.
The sun painted the sky with pinks and golds that chased the purple and blue of the night away. It was looking to be a perfect day for the labor ahead of him, and an even better one for a day on the beaches far east. Beaches he hadn't seen since…
His hand itched again, almost burned, and he let the barrel dip as he picked at it. It would be better to ignore the feeling, if it meant paying more attention to his surroundings, but he didn't often have things attack him out here. Nature was far kinder to him than civilization.
For all that he had been told the west was a place of death, only for the courageous or the fool, he was probably the biggest threat to himself that he'd come across.
There were Indians of course, and bears, and mountain lions, but all had been driven off by gunfire initially, and had grown used to him long ago. They gave him a wide berth, and he did the same for them.
Of all the things that had surprised him about the frontier, which were rather few, the biggest had to be the Beastmen.
It was supposed to be little more than a rumor, maybe some Indians trying to ward settlers off with various 'supernatural' creatures, said to be an unholy combination of man and beast, but it had been mere months before he first saw them.
The howling was a jolt to his system, and had him launching from his bedroll with gun in hand.
They had been on the ridge, close enough for him to pick out the ears perched atop their heads and the tails swaying behind them. Far too close for comfort.
That had been the first, and only, time he'd seen them, but their howls still pulled him from the heaviest of sleep.
So, ignoring the 'I told you so' that his mother's voice chanted in his mind, he let his skepticism die in silence.
He reached the first snare, found it untouched and passed right by.
They were simple traps for rabbits or other small game, and required no bait. A snare that would catch anything unfortunate enough to stick its neck through the loop of wire.
It had done well, in the 'untouched' land that surrounded him for acres. It was rare for the things to turn up empty for more than a week.
The arrow embedded in the tree beside his next trap certainly hadn't been there before.
He shouldered his rifle, not quite staring down the sights but ready should a threat appear, twisting to study his surroundings with a new caution.
The woods offered no further warning, nor did he receive an arrow to the chest, so he guessed whoever had left it was long gone. Still, one couldn't be too careful.
He weaved through the brush, keeping himself generally alert as he slid down to the bank of a wide, slow river.
It was his fishing spot, as well as a host of other things. Usually he'd sit for a while and see what he could catch, but usually there wasn't an arrow left for him to find.
He just needed to check the last one he had put out, then he could let whoever drifted on his land find a way out.
Every step became purposeful, quick and light as he moved to the last trap.
This one was for much larger animals. Deer, or bear, or boar, or any host of things that he could eat. It was a gift for getting the inventor, a traveling tinkerer and salesman by the name of Leo Valdez, out of quite the predicament back in the day. Something about hating being in debt to someone.
The trap was akin to a animal's jaws, thick iron that would bite and hold anything unfortunate enough to step in it. Percy wasn't sure on the specifics, but it mattered little.
He could smell his catch before he saw it. The thick, coppery scent of blood that undoubtedly would've drawn something in. So he rounded the bend expecting nothing left, maybe some leftover guts.
He wasn't expecting a person, or something resembling a person.
The clothes caught his eye first, or perhaps the lack thereof. Little more than scraps of leather across… her chest and hips.
She looked like a settler girl taken in by Indians, if a tail didn't hang tucked between her legs. A closer look, and he could see her ears tucked close to her head, almost hidden by her hair.
Yellowish, almost silver eyes glared at him, fangs bared, and a growl rumbled deep in her throat.
"Well, howdy." He brought a hand up to tip his hat, and let his gun point to the packed earth. She snarled, a flicker of light drawing his eyes to the flint dagger in her fist.
Right, this was interesting. He gave their surroundings another glance, and found them just as empty as his trek had been.
The trap had certainly done its damage. The iron was painted crimson where it could be seen, several of the teeth sunk deep into the girl's calf. That had to hurt, almost as much as being left behind.
He couldn't leave her here. He wouldn't leave anything in those traps, couldn't afford to really. But he had the distinct feeling she wouldn't let him get close…
He slipped his pack off his shoulders, and gently dropped it to the ground with his rifle. Next went his holster, though he kept his belt in hand, and his hat atop it all.
She glared suspiciously, glancing between himself and his pile of gear. Smart, to some extent at least, he mused as he slipped his belt back through the buckle and into a loose loop.
This time, when he approached, she only offered that low growl. He ignored it. The knife would have to go first, then he'd have to watch for the claws, and the fangs last.
So he took a beyond leisurely pace, waited for her protests to stop between each step. He managed to get within a bound before the growling didn't stop.
"How 'bout you drop that knife for me, sweetheart." He doubted the request would be understood, much less complied with.
A flash of movement over her shoulder caught his eye, and he took a half-step towards his gun before he realized what it was.
A buck, towering and noble and a perfect catch had his 'prey' not fallen into the trap.
He could see her pause, and finally follow his stare.
He lunged, sending the buck galloping and crashing into her before she could react. The chain of the trap jingled, and he had to force the guilt her howl of pain gave him right back out of his mind.
The knife went spiraling across the dirt as they landed, out of sight and mind as he fought to bring her hands together.
She was certainly stronger than she looked, thrashing and yowling and fighting every second. Strong, but not strong enough to keep him from wrapping her hands together with his belt.
It wasn't the end of the struggle, though, as her foot slammed into his thigh. He grunted, but ignored the pain, dropping down to the trap.
It had bit deeper, he suspected, considering the fresh welling of blood from around the teeth.
She yelped when he grabbed the jaws, losing her defense in favor of squirming away from the pain. He didn't want to call the movement 'pathetic', but it was hardly the controlled struggle for life he'd been dealing with moments prior.
Her leg was definitely broken, that much was apparent as soon as she'd fallen, and the way it seemed to flop out of the trap's hold only highlighted that.
Not something that would heal properly if left to itself, and considering she was alone he doubted the rest of them would care enough to patch her up.
It was a terrible idea. He should just leave her to her own devices, let her figure out how to stay alive. He had his own problems, a somewhat lacking food supply chief amongst them, and inviting what was basically a wild animal into his home would do him no favors.
He retreated to his pack, certain that she couldn't get away if she tried, smoothly grabbing his medical supplies. Not enough to 'fix' all of it, but enough to get her to his cabin.
She certainly did try to escape, and just as he predicted she could barely drag herself across the dirt.
This time, his approach was warded with a whimper, one that he ignored. He was glad that the way a belt worked eluded her, claws were never fun to deal with.
With ease that came from hours of 'practice' (for all that patching himself up was practice), he wrapped the gauze tight, drawing a yelp and staunching the blood in the same movement.
Her squirming sped up for a beat, only to slow down the next. He ignored it, lurching for a straight-ish and sturdy looking stick.
A good enough splint, till he could get a hold of one of the spare boards he had around the house.
She had stopped struggling, as he secured the splint, body heaving as she gasped for air. Broken bones were always that kind of pain, the nauseating, breathtaking sort that made well and clear just how wrong something was.
He eyed her for a moment, then his pack, and sighed. It wouldn't be a fun hike.
Her body wasn't terribly heavy, but was only added weight slung over his shoulders. It was better that than risking his throat being ripped out, and she seemed far too weak at the moment to be pulling her arms from beneath her entire weight.
With a final check to make sure he'd left nothing behind, he readjusted his burden and began walking.
There was nothing to stop his return blurring in his mind, save for the irritating, sticky feeling of dried blood on his fingers. This included his passenger, who remained oddly silent in her position across his shoulders.
She was still alive, he could feel the puff of her breath across his ear, but very still. Maybe it was exhaustion. It would be a bit hard to sleep with spring loaded steel biting into your calf, no matter what you were.
He halfheartedly scuffed his boots on his way up the stairs, dislodging any bigger chunks of dirt or mud and sending clouds of dust erupting underfoot.
His home was a modest thing, though considering he'd made it himself it was rather nice in his eyes. Just enough of what he needed, and nothing he didn't.
With a moment to swallow the hesitation born of staining one of the few blankets he owned, he dropped her to his small bed.
The impact seemed to wake her, and she flailed to put some distance between them, starting to glare once more.
Thankfully, he didn't have to move past a lean to reach his full stock of medical supplies, pulling it and her leg to him at the same time. She gave another sound, but little more.
It was rather quick work, the sharp teeth of the trap had resulted in a rather clean cut even if it looked like she had pulled at the thing for hours. How often he'd had to use this kit on himself undoubtedly helped, too.
She had been fairly quiet during the process, only whimpering or crying out when he adjusted her leg to set the splint. Had certainly bled all over his pants though, and the floor, and part of his blanket. He grimaced.
"Gotta go bleedin everywhere." He grumbled lightly, taking a few steps back and eyeing his work. Her own hand lightly brushed across the bandages, clawed fingers just short of catching the fabric.
She sent him a look, and he raised his hands.
"Fine, fine."
Quietly mourning a lost day, he set to work fixing dinner for himself and his new guest. His kitchen was only a handful of paces from the bed, so she didn't exactly have privacy, but he couldn't really trust her with privacy.
It was a simple meal, beans and venison and some biscuits. Nothing special, but certainly not the worst thing he'd had to eat out there.
He didn't even need to think about what he was doing, not till a plate sat before him and a second sat in his hand. He turned back to the bed.
She had managed to get beneath the covers, curled almost unnaturally tight and watching him intently as he worked. It made her look like a nun, albeit one with ears that pitched the veils fabric a good foot above her head.
He paused, idly rubbing a thumb across his knuckles and glancing between her and the steaming food.
Cautiously, he began a path to the bed, met with a glare certainly, and twitching lips, but no growl. Closer and closer, till he was no more than one good pace from the bed, dipping into a crouch and sliding the plate onto the mattress in a smooth motion.
He didn't push his luck, retreating to his own meal with the steady beat of his own boots against the wood.
She eyed the meal suspiciously, sniffing at it without moving to grab the plate.
"It's good." Her eyes shot over to him, "Passable at least, hot food is hot food."
She squinted, sitting motionless for a long moment before lurching forward and taking the hunk of meat straight from the plate with her teeth. Hands shot from beneath the covers and she tore into the meal, dripping grease and fat on a small portion of his mattress. At least she enjoyed that part of it.
He hadn't even made it through half of his own venison, though he had also been picking at his biscuits and beans, when she had gulped down the last piece and moved to the rest of her meal.
She grabbed the biscuit next, almost shoving the whole thing in her mouth and instantly gagging. They were certainly dry, but he'd never figured out just how to make them anything but. He slid forward, refilling his glass and offering it to her gingerly.
There was no hesitation in snatching the glass from him, sucking down the whole thing before gasping for another breath.
He took the glass back, refilling and returning it easily. What remained of the biscuit and the untouched beans forgotten, she retreated into the covers, taking far slower sips.
Taking it as a queue, Percy scooped the plate up, adding the beans to his own pile and tossing the dish to his sink.
"Not one for the sides, are you?" He hummed, savoring the taste of his meal.
She stared. Not so hostile, not even as suspicious as he'd expect, no she had a… curious glimmer in her eyes. Almost like she was studying him, the same way he'd been studying her.
He offered no words for the rest of his meal, watching the flames in his hearth lick the air with hypnotic, rolling grace. She was watching him though, no matter how much she attempted to hide it when he fully turned her way.
Dishes were a similar affair, done quickly and under her steady watch, and his nighttime preparations mirrored it. He was just glad that there was a small wall he could change behind, and maintain some of the dignity that may not last if she became a long term guest.
With the weight of tiredness seeping into his bones, he glanced at his bed for a moment, mourning his choice to put her there before collapsing into one of the few chairs he owned. Bones and wood creaking, he settled into the most comfortable position he could manage.
It was certainly an eventful day. The start of something that he didn't think he fully understood, though he wasn't even sure what gave him the notion, something very different from the humble existence he'd had since he'd left Crooked Chapel.
He peered at her from his seat, squinting through the fog of sleep to watch her disappear beneath the blanket fully. Despite it, he gently palmed the knife he kept stashed in his pocket, and pulled his spare blanket tighter around himself.
She was certainly a strange thing. Strange indeed.