(no subject)
It was amazing how easy it was to slip into old skins.Natalya had gone so far, back home, from Russia to the American heartland and almost, almost back again. On the island she'd found herself feeling farther removed yet, from the girl she'd been, one of the boys, from the missions and the Motherland. Yorick, Sarah, Montgomery, Casey had all helped- everyone she'd begun friendships with had helped. So few now remained, and those, she had distanced herself from. It was easier than she would have anticipated. She supposed that could have been seen as sad.
She ran through the jungle, downhill, jumping over fallen palms or boulders, but mostly keeping up a steady stream of footfalls. The easiest way to fill the time was training. She was aware of the ITF, had vaguely considered joining, but couldn't bring herself to so much as inquire about what that would entail. So she ran.
She slid a good five feet, digging her boot heels into the earth, to the bottom of the incline and then sprang back into a sprint. She pulled the small hatchet she'd crafted from scraps made available at the salvage yard from the holster she'd tied around her thigh, took two running steps up a smooth, rocky outcropping and flipped, backward, off of it. Natalya threw the hatchet as she did and landed, one leg out and one bent beneath her, one hand still raised and the other out in front of her, fingers spread and tips keeping her balanced against the ground.
There was a chalky white 'x' on a tree. It was bisected by the makeshift hatchet. She huffed out enough of a breath to make the hair that had fallen across her eyes move out of the way and considered it.
She hadn't been able to do it last week. Seemed some things came more easily these days than others.
(Great time to meet her!))
She ran through the jungle, downhill, jumping over fallen palms or boulders, but mostly keeping up a steady stream of footfalls. The easiest way to fill the time was training. She was aware of the ITF, had vaguely considered joining, but couldn't bring herself to so much as inquire about what that would entail. So she ran.
She slid a good five feet, digging her boot heels into the earth, to the bottom of the incline and then sprang back into a sprint. She pulled the small hatchet she'd crafted from scraps made available at the salvage yard from the holster she'd tied around her thigh, took two running steps up a smooth, rocky outcropping and flipped, backward, off of it. Natalya threw the hatchet as she did and landed, one leg out and one bent beneath her, one hand still raised and the other out in front of her, fingers spread and tips keeping her balanced against the ground.
There was a chalky white 'x' on a tree. It was bisected by the makeshift hatchet. She huffed out enough of a breath to make the hair that had fallen across her eyes move out of the way and considered it.
She hadn't been able to do it last week. Seemed some things came more easily these days than others.
(Great time to meet her!))
