"Time to run, ah?"
ah.
+ah
+ah
Kip and Herri
calmly depart the premises.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHThe massive unfriendly crab follows after them. With alarming speed.Up the beach, around a few trees, a few more circles and a mad dash into the thickening foliage.
At some point, the thing gave up. The rumbling in Kip and Herri's chests, however, left them none the wiser to the crab's withdrawal. So they kept running. That final dash was the nail in Kip's dry, dehydrated coffin. He keeled right over and ate the dirt in the midst of a grove littered with patches of sand. Like a flat stone into the dirt.
Thump. Pbbtt."Waiwaiwaiwait! Don' flip on me now!"Kip fades from consciousness.
Kip has lost possession of the dinghy.
The faint taste of coconut—far off, like a distant memory...
And then it's gone.Some time later, as Kip's eyes slowly open...—"... can do nothing. Wait! Look!" "More mumbling. I am telling you, Herri, he's too far—""No, look! He's waking!" "He's been waking half a day now. The sea take these games of yours.""C'mon, feral boy! Get spiff!" Herri snaps his fingers before Kip's benumbed face.Kip's coming to. His head is pulsing with pain and his stomach hurts. It's not all bad, though: his mouth is wet and he's not dizzy.
This dehydration problem's been solved.There's the faint heat of a fire at his toes. He's sat upright with something damp on his back.
It's tough to focus on much past the two faces in front of him; those being Herri and a woman of dark skin and darker, messy black hair. She's not young, but she's not old.
It feels impossible for Kip to move any of his limbs right now, but his strength is slowly returning. Kip CONDITION: Very hungry; Thirsty HEADSPACE: Who? What? Where? Possessions: A small waterskin; the clothes on his back; Snipping Claws.
I keep forgetting to write this and it's probably unfashionably late at this point, but: grats to any Argentine peeps here on the World Cup win!