Post by Frosty on Mar 27, 2010 23:40:08 GMT -5
Wim dragged himself across the bottom of the lake, shivering. He couldn't stop shivering, and was slowly freezing to death. A bullet wizzed down and hit him, through his leg and smacking against and shattering the bone. He screeched and limped forward, slowly getting higher and higher as he raced to the other side of the lake. He started forming a vine den against a tree while he limped as fast as he could towards it. He nudged himself into it and collapsed, covered by a cool shade of the den that now kept him from sight. He licked his leg, grasping the bullet with his teeth and yanking it from his leg and bone. He bit his toung to keep from screeching again and furiously licked at his leg to stop the bleeding. His blood tasted bitter, like gunpowder. He grew a small plant and bit it off at the stem, chewing it up and wrinkling his nose. The plant tasted bitter and disgusting. He spat it on his leg and licked it into the wound. Then he put 3 large leaves against his leg, then wrapped it up in vines. It hurt like crazy, but it would stop the bleeding. He flopped down and scratched at the dirt between roots. It came away easily, to his pleasure, and he soon dug a nice (painful) den. He pulled some of the vines down so they looked more natural and squeezed into the hole, under the tree. The dampness soothed him, and he listened to the tree. They were usually calming, talking in quiet whistling voices. But today they were shrieking, screaming about the bullets that ruined there bark and killed them. Wim tuned them out and listened to moss instead. They were considerably more soothing, trying to calm down the trees. There voices were quiet and damp, hard to hear unless you concentrate.
