rotten soldier.

full navigation.

Maybe it was some light masochism that implored Shakti to always volunteer to work security's night shift, or at least that's what it felt like with the cold cutting into his bones like a million tiny knife points. Some nights the cold wasn't that bad-- usually the nights he spent in the wood shop, blood set to boil with how hard he tended to work in there-- but tonight, with this pattern of pacing and climbing/descending the walls for routine checks; the wind was a cruel and viperous thing. Some three or four hours into his shift, Shakti's expectedly-high nerves calmed a little bit, as lights and bonfires all over Jericho visibly began to fade, indicating that most people had turned in for the night. This meant that his job would be a little easier until morning. However, given his slightly-calmer disposition, it meant that he was only that much more panicked to hear the snow crunching beneath someone's feet not far from where he stood. He immediately turned towards the noise, reaching for his flashlight, and attempting to turn it on. A few calculated slams of his palm against the base of it, and it finally flickered to life, shedding adequate light over the nightwalker. Immediately, Shakti exhales a sigh of relief, laughing internally at himself for thinking that it would be an iceberg. The likeliness of it was surely nothing to worry about on an otherwise ordinary night. "I can't imagine you're just out for a leisurely walk in the dark," he says with a wry expectedness in his cold-fractured voice. "What are you doing out here this late? It's gotta be negative 60 with this wind chill."

"Whoa, whoa, Willow, slow down," Shakti puts his hands out towards his friend, palms facing the earth, his face twisted in great concern as he takes in the panic on his dear friend's face. He'd been found in the midst of working on a yak hide, and had quickly forgotten about it when Willow arrived-- normally, he would carry on a conversation without ever looking up from his work, but the strain of urgency in her voice was quick to yank him from his task. "Well, it's a city surrounded by walls, Will, I'm sure he hasn't gone too far," Shakti offered a meek smile beneath his unkempt beard, tentatively landing a comforting hand on her shoulder, "Come on, lets go, we're only an hour from sunset. I'm sure we can find him in no time." With that, he moved his hand between Willow's shoulder blades and gently led her out of the tannery, and towards the sharper edges of the city, where the older kids tended to wander off to, in search of mischief. Truthfully, Shakti was more worried than his steady voice let on. He had always had a penchant for hiding his true emotions, sure, but he was purposeful in not steeping Willow's own panic. He knew that she loved her boys more than anything in this frostbitten world, and the least he could do, as her friend, would be to allow her the grace of hope. Besides, everyone knew everyone in Jericho, right? Surely someone in their right mind would have spotted Willow's son by now, and be escorting him back to his mother's arms in no time. "When was the last time you saw him, Will?"