At the mention of making a shelter, Sasha looked up at the clear sky as the sun set. It was turning bright orange, and they would probably only have about an hour of light left at the most.
"It might be too late to make one tonight. I don't think the benefit would be worth the risk of rummaging through the woods at night barefoot. We should take shifts keeping watch, but other than that, we may have to make due for now."
As it grew darker, it also grew colder. Sasha knew the need for clothes would be pressing soon. Hopefully, it wouldn't get much colder than it already was. The animal hide would take at least a full day to dry, and it certainly wasn't enough to cloth all of them. Being the biggest, he figured it was only fair of him to wait. It would probably take an entire animal to make something that would even fit him. And anyways, he was fairly tolerant to the cold.
While the fire burned, Sasha began fiddling with some of the stronger branches he'd found. He found two with forked ends and snapped them in half so that they were each about three feet long. He then began working on sharpening the end of a third. When the fire was burned down to the white hot coals, he staked the two forked branches in the ground, and skewered meat with the pointed one to lay across the firepit. It would have to be turned fairly frequently, but it got the job done.
He sat back when he was done, his eyes settling on the shifting light of the embers. It was peaceful, almost. Peace was something that he hadn't felt in a long time. A man constantly at war, Sasha wasn't used to having quiet moments like this. Letting his guard down was always too dangerous.
It occurred to him that he hadn't even shared his name with these new people yet. Most people he met didn't care enough to ask, but seeing as he was stuck here for X amount of time with them, it might be worth mentioning. Honestly, it was probably for the best that they didn't know too much about him. Many people found it hard to look past what he did for a living, regardless of his intentions. He was a professional killer, even if he only tried to kill bad people. Not to mention that his work was, more often than not, illegal. But what did any of that matter now?
"You, uh, can call me Sasha," He said, seemingly out of the blue.
"It might be too late to make one tonight. I don't think the benefit would be worth the risk of rummaging through the woods at night barefoot. We should take shifts keeping watch, but other than that, we may have to make due for now."
As it grew darker, it also grew colder. Sasha knew the need for clothes would be pressing soon. Hopefully, it wouldn't get much colder than it already was. The animal hide would take at least a full day to dry, and it certainly wasn't enough to cloth all of them. Being the biggest, he figured it was only fair of him to wait. It would probably take an entire animal to make something that would even fit him. And anyways, he was fairly tolerant to the cold.
While the fire burned, Sasha began fiddling with some of the stronger branches he'd found. He found two with forked ends and snapped them in half so that they were each about three feet long. He then began working on sharpening the end of a third. When the fire was burned down to the white hot coals, he staked the two forked branches in the ground, and skewered meat with the pointed one to lay across the firepit. It would have to be turned fairly frequently, but it got the job done.
He sat back when he was done, his eyes settling on the shifting light of the embers. It was peaceful, almost. Peace was something that he hadn't felt in a long time. A man constantly at war, Sasha wasn't used to having quiet moments like this. Letting his guard down was always too dangerous.
It occurred to him that he hadn't even shared his name with these new people yet. Most people he met didn't care enough to ask, but seeing as he was stuck here for X amount of time with them, it might be worth mentioning. Honestly, it was probably for the best that they didn't know too much about him. Many people found it hard to look past what he did for a living, regardless of his intentions. He was a professional killer, even if he only tried to kill bad people. Not to mention that his work was, more often than not, illegal. But what did any of that matter now?
"You, uh, can call me Sasha," He said, seemingly out of the blue.