DeShaun (ex_hammerdow169) wrote in thefield, @ 2009-02-22 22:45:00 |
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Entry tags: | clay, z - 1st tribe - day 08 |
Who: Clay
What: fun with Mother Nature
Where: the main climber tree, in the rain
When: before dawn, during the monsoon
Rating: squeaks by as a G, I think
Sleep came late and restless, soon interrupted by gusts of wind. Clay was already sitting up in the hammock when the first drops of rain began to patter through the canopy. Booted feet slipped on wet bark; a soft curse hissed through clenched teeth at the near miss.
Clay retreated back to the hammock, but only long enough to kick off his boots and socks. Barefoot, the going wasn't much easier, the limbs of the Climber tree slick and treacherous in the rain. Heedless of the danger, Clay felt his way upward in the dark, clutching branches, swinging clumsily from vine to vine, fingers and toes groping for purchase on the waxy bark.
Up and up, hair plastered to his face, dripping into his eyes. Up and up, losing his grip, sliding, twigs slipping through his frantic grasp until at last one vine caught and held. A moment's rest; panting, heart pounding, burning pain in his side where a branch had scraped. Was that blood? Or just the rain, warm as blood, slicking his questing fingers?
Up and up, slip and scramble, curses and grunts of effort drowned out by the relentless roar of the rain. His Gran's voice, a distant memory--"too damn stupid to come in out of the rain"--and Clay laughed, remembering the summer downpour, the exhileration that had lasted even after she'd thrashed him for tracking mud across the floor.
Up and up, until the branches thinned, threatening to give under his weight. Clay braced his legs; balanced; released the grip of one hand, then the other.
"Whoo-hoo!" He threw his arms out, back arched, embracing the storm.