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Arthur King (chasingphantoms) wrote in inpoormerit,

King shook his head. "No, not in the slightest." King had never actually swum the English Channel before (although he'd always wanted to try), but he imagined that it couldn't be much more difficult than swimming twenty-miles in the icy north Atlantic for a few of his training sessions. "I'm not sure I trust what could be living in that water, either. The shallows seem friendly enough, but after those wolves..." King trailed off, his brow knit in momentary contemplation. No place was truly safe, at least if dark creatures like the ones that he'd escaped the night before could lurk in the forest. He wondered vaguely, as he had so many times since last night, why the wolves hadn't come out during the day, and when they would come back again. (It was not a question of "if," he was sure. Not on this island, where at least for the time being their lives seemed to be controlled by the whims of a mysterious block of text on a screen.)

Not for the first time that morning, King turned his head suspiciously, swearing he felt eyes on him. As usual, though, nothing was there. He shook himself a little, and tried to draw his focus back to reality. Unfortuantely that focus was best regained by glancing, hopefully furtively enough, at Eden's shimmering bosom, but (to King's credit) the look didn't last long. "That's not surprising. I didn't spend as much time mingling as I probably should've, and I'm still not sure exactly how many people are on this island. I think we've all been trying to find a common thread, but so far I've found nothing." Except their mutual confusion, but that was another matter entirely.