Who: Payne and Clay When: Day 15, late morning/early afternoon Where: in the woods What: another attempt at eleboar hunting Rating: R Warnings: Cursing; dysfunctional displays of affection/violence; hunting baby animals; baby animal suffering/death; bloodshed. Status: Complete
Clay's stomach rumbled. His jeans sagged low on his hips, revealing the blue waistband of his briefs and a narrow strip of white, winter-pale skin. He was getting thinner. Like everybody else. There wasn't a goddamn thing to eat anywhere around the camp.
That was good, he'd decided. God was a capricious being, no matter what good Christian folk might say about him having a plan for everything and everybody. Clay didn't believe in God, not any more, but he was willing to keep an open mind about the new gods of this new world, and it stood to reason that they'd be just as flighty and unfair as the Big Guy in charge of the old.
The gods of this planet wouldn't want to see some fat, happy, satisfied lard-ass bastard heading out to kill one of their own creation, now would they? Clay's hungry belly was his offering, his sacrifice to appease the goddess of the hunt. The fact that he was unshaven and unfed and armed only with rocks and a stick might be seen as a detriment by some. As far as Clay was concerned, this practically guaranteed his success.
He had Payne's bedsheet doubled and twisted, slung over one bare shoulder and tied at the waist, a makeshift spear in his hand, and pockets loaded down with rocks. He couldn't remember the last time he'd so much as combed his fingers through his hair. Clay figured he was as ready as he'd ever be.