(no subject)
He was practicing his writing in the sand when he found it.
March was always taking notes from the books he read, and at some point, Roger had realized that for all his skill at carving arrows and spears, and all the practice he was putting into using them both, he hadn't touched a pen or pencil since he'd gotten here. He hadn't read a book--he'd struggled just to figure out what March was reading, at first. It hadn't seemed important for such a long time, but what if that woman had been wrong, what if there was a government person, and they wanted papers, and they wanted him in school? He didn't think his spears and arrows would help him, then.
So he'd taking an arrow down to the beach, and he was practicing his name in the wet sand, letting the tide wash each attempt away. It hadn't been that long ago, he still knew how to spell it, but his handwriting was shaky, nothing like the perfect cursive he'd been made to learn.
Something rolled up against his heels and he jumped, falling back over it and crawling away, into the surf, until he saw that it didn't move on its own. It was a long piece of wood, carved, slim at one end and wider, but still blunt, at the other. It must've gone out with the tide at some point, and just now come back. Picking it up, he admired the weight, and swung it back and forth with one hand. He wondered what it could possible be for.
[Roger has just found Jonas' baseball bat, which Jonas earlier accused him of stealing. Not knowing much at all about baseball, he doesn't recognize it. ST welcome and can be expected, between NaNo and three EPs]
March was always taking notes from the books he read, and at some point, Roger had realized that for all his skill at carving arrows and spears, and all the practice he was putting into using them both, he hadn't touched a pen or pencil since he'd gotten here. He hadn't read a book--he'd struggled just to figure out what March was reading, at first. It hadn't seemed important for such a long time, but what if that woman had been wrong, what if there was a government person, and they wanted papers, and they wanted him in school? He didn't think his spears and arrows would help him, then.
So he'd taking an arrow down to the beach, and he was practicing his name in the wet sand, letting the tide wash each attempt away. It hadn't been that long ago, he still knew how to spell it, but his handwriting was shaky, nothing like the perfect cursive he'd been made to learn.
Something rolled up against his heels and he jumped, falling back over it and crawling away, into the surf, until he saw that it didn't move on its own. It was a long piece of wood, carved, slim at one end and wider, but still blunt, at the other. It must've gone out with the tide at some point, and just now come back. Picking it up, he admired the weight, and swung it back and forth with one hand. He wondered what it could possible be for.
[Roger has just found Jonas' baseball bat, which Jonas earlier accused him of stealing. Not knowing much at all about baseball, he doesn't recognize it. ST welcome and can be expected, between NaNo and three EPs]