Dawnlark Plains moments

set a few hours after this so that anybody can join :)

@Colt had sent him off while he tended to the lamed @Sadey.

Marston had kept his distance since then. Feeling scorned, not that he had know that was the feeling. He had scouted the ridgeline and seen little action.

He knew soon, with the sun now creeping down, that he should return to the rest of the gange soon. Yet something itched in the back of his brain and he fell into that coyote stalking pose again. Headed further and further.

So far he had been given nothing to fear but The Big Man himself.

hunger, in the boy.
but for the wrong thing.
colt stalked after marston. the kid would know his step and maybe turn, at which point briggs meant to fetch the boy such a wallop as to blind him a moment, send him sprawling.
this was how gang boys learned.
this was how he learned.
"i seent the way you looked at sadey, earlier." his face was a stormcloud.

Blindsided.

In the moment of meeting the cold earth in a stumble, he felt that odd feeling burn again. He was not a stranger to the man's harder lessons, but he had done nothing that fell outside of what he'd been taught.

All at once his slinking form had become a cowering, half-defensive in case he was struck again.

colt did not, but he stood over marston, thrusting his mouth with its yellowed teeth close. "there's a time fer killin', boy, but it ain't won't be in that camp." he smelt of sadey; he knew it and meant to make the boy understand the connection between her and his anger.
"stay away from her," colt ordered in a harsh snarl.

He struggled, missing a core connection between the anger and the lady.

The Big Man hadn't been mad at her and Marston had done nothing but be watchful. Mindful of her the way he had been of the deer, who had placed a notch above his brow.

Things did not end without a fight. A lesson he learned already.

But he was bristled in his frustration and confusing. Never once did he try to break free or strike back, though.

colt's fight went out of him; he relaxed his proverbial fists.
but there was tension in all lines of him, tension as he stepped away from marston and stared at nothing in particular.
"think she's dyin'," and finally he understood why he had struck the boy. not for her, not for anything wrong, but for the sheer ugliness of not knowing how to handle the potential of sadey's death.
a sob rose in his throat, rough and manful; he tried to shove it down. "don't mind me, kid." not an apology but it was the closest thing to it that marston would get. "leader o'the gang afore reno, well, he boxed my ears good for any reason." thought he was doing well only giving the kid what-for a third so often.

He was released.

Without a second thought, he scuttled a bit further away. Out of grasp in a hunkered position. He never liked the yellowed teeth on him, but the message of them was always clearer than words.

Dyin'.

He thought he had heard that sound before. Hunting, scrapping with coyotes. It usually meant the end of something.

What did all of this have to do with the end?

He dared to scuttle his way back a bit closer. Almost apologetic in nature, hoping that The Big Man would let him close. Without teeth this time.

marston was closer. the rogue hardly looked at the boy, not a tooth shown or indication he would strike again.
colt stared at the sky.
"lost a lotta friends along the way, marston. yew will too. jes' the way of things." briggs wiped his nose on a fore-ankle and told himself to stop whinging, leastways in front of a little kid.
"it's part of everything. but fuck, if i knowed she'd —" he found himself unable to speak now.

He did not understand.

But the mood in the air was heavy, he could practically taste the salt in the air. It made him prickle in that uncertain way. Confused, worried, waiting.

The Big Man had never been like this before.

That scared Marston more than any set of yellowed teeth ever could.

A soft whine muffled in the back of his throat.

colt wanted to be angry again, to lash out at marston for not understanding. to lash out in resentment that marston didn't understand, hadn't been worked over by the world long enough to get it inherently.
not the boy's fault. not anyone's but colt's own, dragging them into that fight.
"enough," he said, finished with this small show of emotional nakedness. "let's git on back, boy." he stood, cleared his throat, and moved off toward camp without another word.

Git.

He knew what that sound meant, and like none of this had ever happened, he began to move once more.

Upright, alert, the feral edge tamed for only a while longer.