𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄, divinity is a wretched fate.
Dreary Forks is a cramped town beneath a near constant overcast sky, enshrouded in evergreen.
Like every small town, Forks is rife with gossip. Most children's grandparents grandparents had b...
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THE SQUELCH OF sapping mud underfoot smears the soles of Zachary's boots and sprays like treacle into the material of his slate cargos. Zachary's fingers tighten into fists around the open bulk of his jacket, and the boy tugs the layers closer in a search for warmth amongst the rush of downpour overhead. Thick droplets of rainfall soak into Zachary's scalp through the tresses of unruly hair until the dusty hickory starts to topple flatly across his forehead. Still, at his rosy mouth is a smile, wide as bleached teeth gleam and Zachary barks a boyful laugh whenever he watches Waylon sprawl a handful of strides ahead.
Loud curses splutter from Waylon's mouth and the older male throws his balding head back to scowl at the overcast skies above. Zachary jerks his hand to smother his snicker as he hurries forward, and he offers his wet hand to him with the gleam of his humor glinting in Zachary's baby blue eyes. Waylon huffs at the boy with a wry grin of his own, before he's slapping his large, calloused hand into Zachary's own and accepting the boy's aid. Behind, Andy Todd is joined by his Brother-In-Law as the men start to guffaw at Waylon's unfortunate luck with the sludge of the woodland floor glued to his calves and all the way up to the small of his back.
"Yeah, yeah," Waylon dismisses gruffly with the gesture of his dirty hand toward his friends before he narrows his eyes in a squint against the rainfall that cloys his lashes, and Waylon finds Harry where the startled man had spun on his heel with the commotion. "Laugh it up." Waylon grunts and he smacks his hands down the front of his hunters jacket, smearing more grime down the fabric as he wets his thin lips and eventually, Waylon shoves lightheartedly at Charlie Swan's nearby shoulder. Charlie lifts his hands in defense, though his pursed lipped smile remains underneath his thick moustache whilst Andy's outright cackling almost drowns the pitter patter of the rain.
Deftly, Harry Clearwater drops each footfall to land evenly on the slippy terrain and the males chuckle rumbles his broad chest whenever he claps his hand down on Zachary's shoulder to round the boy before Harry lowers with a grunt of effort to collect Waylon's fallen rifle and he extends it to him with a shake of his head in amusement, tousling salt and peppered hair around his rounded face. Waylon takes it with a curt, thankful nod before he bows his head in a sheepish manner with his companions humor beginning to simmer as they continue onward in their trek through the woodland.
Lush evergreens tower for miles above, into the gray sky, and Zachary might feel the littlest bit claustrophobic if these weren't the same trees he were raised to traipse through. In fact, if he thinks hard enough, Zachary can remember the way his weight distributed over Andy's wide shoulders in his youth as they mapped paths winding through this same forest. Zachary has always loved Forks' woods, with the aroma of wet pine soaking into his pores and saturated bark peeling from grand trunks that have fallen at their feet. Idly, Zachary lifts to step over yet another log before he tilts his chin to peer at the branches that hang low above, ducking his head as they weave through to rediscover the path Zachary knows resides beyond this tree line in particular.
