#ethan dobrowski

     The Jurassic heat was sweltering and humid, even in the middle of the night.  Early mosquitoes swarmed around the camp, dissuaded only by some horrid-smelling plant that Ethan had found and encouraged everyone to slather themselves with.  It was nearly impossible to get off when still wet (the jury was still out on whether or not soap- which they didn’t have- would have helped), and it took ages to dry.  When it did, it had to be peeled and scraped off, leaving the skin underneath irritated, itchy, and often unpleasantly exfoliated.  It had a vaguely yellowish tint to it, an echo of the petals of its flowers.

     It was these flowers that Charlotte Cameron was collecting now, their stems too.  Mercifully, they didn’t smell so terrible until they were ground up.

     Charlotte wasn’t a hunter or a fighter- more of a gatherer and mender.  She didn’t like killing, but before she met the others her only companion had fallen ill, and she’d resorted to killing and cooking a rabbit to get some protein into him.  It had worked, and Aaron had lived.  But when she had finally found her place among many others, she had been happy to step back from that role.  She did her best to patch people up, and she and Emily often sewed the repairs in clothes or makeshift tents, as long as there was a substitute for needle and thread available.  She helped cook as well, and she was generally regarding as the most soothing presence.  She had been the first person among them that Ethan Dobrowski, when he’d joined them, had trusted.

     He made her feel safe like no one else quite did.

     He was their best hunter, with a disquieting proclivity and aptitude toward killing and violence in general.  If he couldn’t kill something, he usually split wood with their one axe (one of their companions had lived alone in the woods before getting chased through an anomaly by what he believed to be a raptor of some kind.  He’d been splitting wood when it happened).  Still, they didn’t pry, and they tried very hard not to judge- when it came to survival, it was difficult to determine where uncrossable lines could be drawn.

     He was out hunting now, along with Emily and another of their member, a dark-skinned woman with short-shorn hair named Maya.  She was as tall as a man and as quick and cunning as a snake, yet she had earned their trust time and time again.  She had made bows and arrows for those that hunted, and she certainly knew how to use her craft.

     Charlotte finished collecting the flowers and returned to the camp, where she was greeted by the sight of the three hunters returning with their bounty.  Ethan’s crocodile-green eyes swept over the ramshackle collection of tents and lean-tos before landing on her.  His mouth twitched pleasantly, and he deposited the creature on his shoulders onto the ground before striding over to her.

     “Hey.”  She greeted.

     “Hey yourself.”  He returned.

     A pleased smile morphed her features as her eyes flitted over him.  “I see you made it back without getting clawed this time.”  She noted.

     He chuckled.  “You know I only got hurt because I was staring at you.”

     She blushed and looked down, her gaze landing on the horrible flowers in her hands.  His eyes flicked down to see them.  “Not these again.”  He groaned.

     Ethan surprised her by plucking them out of her hand, and as her head lifted in surprise, he reached into his pocket and produced a makeshift bouquet, their stems shoddily tied together by a strip of leather she recognized as belonging to one of the dinosaurs they’d killed and eaten a few days before.

     Some were purple and some were yellow, some were red and some were blue.  Some had four petals and some had nine, some were round like carnations and some were pointy like poinsettias.  They were all utterly alien to her, nothing like any she’d ever seen, but beautiful in their own strange way.

     She lifted her head, her mouth in a sweet smile.  “I love them.  Thank you, Ethan.”  She leaned up onto the tips of her toes- a difficult but impressive feat in her stiff boots- and pressed a kiss to his unshaven cheek.  He smiled, the warmth of it a rare thing, and his eyes softened.