#inkless

It took a long time and many breaks but Warner could finally see the edge of the swamp. Grassy fields just beyond the worn path he had found and made his way on along. Still a mess and his head buzzing with pain and stress, the little voice startled him.

Impresión sin tinta o tóner en cualquier papel. Para esto utilizan un láser infrarrojo que se encarga de carbonizar el papel sin llegar a haber combustión.

Dicen que conseguir que el color sea negro no ha sido trivial, ya que se suele acabar con tonos marrones, pero que a base de ensayo-error  y jugar con el tipo e intensidad del láser y la óptica han dado con ello.

Chester loved to bounce excited around Warner's legs as they slowly walked and it irritated his master to no end. The sole reason the man had not thrown the eyebone in a lake yet was because the creature made a suitable seat to rest on when his heart ached too badly. 

But no more! 

It had been such a long trip but he could finally see his tree in the distance, his hammock swinging softly from it's branches. If he could run, Warner would be sprinting to get back but was forced to settle for the slow gait that had been his prison for the last several days. Stepping into camp, he all but threw the cane in hand into the cold fire pit. Staggering to get to the chest near the tree's trunk, he fell to his knees to get inside. Frail fingers fiddled with the padlock momentarily before he could lift open the top, relief spread over his features to see the disgusting contents inside. 

This was all this chest contained, the effort of pounds of dark flowers pressed and distilled into the rich dark substance that oozed despair and dread but to Warner it was anything but. Plunging his hand into the cold slime, it tingled and clung to his skin, some on it climbing up his arm before he pulled his limb back. Nightmare fuel drenched his hand but soon started to change, dark ink becoming lighter and crisper until the hand was gone and replaced with a familiar white glove. Warner then literally threw himself into the chest head first. Fuel spilling over the sides as he contorted his small frame to lay inside as if it was a bathtub. With a gasp, his head broke the surface covered and blinded by black, it dripped off his features and splattered the ground around him.

As with his hand, it clung and shifted in appearance on his skin. Warner was too blissed to really care how Chester pawed at the ground and yipped in concern. The pain was fading, the aches were disappearing. It got easier to breath once he spit out the mouthful of fuel he accidentally got. The wound in his side stung still but as the colours of his wrinkled skin faded under the fuel, he forgot about it in a moment where everything seemed better.

Once his face felt dry, the ink soaked in, Warner opened his now again black eyes. It was like receiving the best gift again. His thin black legs stuck out of the chest awkwardly, gloved hands held tight to his chest, the amount of black and grey before him made his heart ache so wonderfully. Leaning back, he took the moment to relax into the literal vat of fuel. 

Warner had to stop for a rest, the fear that he sat down and not be able to get up was outweighed by the fear that if he tried to carry on that he would eventually break something. A pond to soothe his parched throat, he caught a glimpse of himself in the water’s reflection.

Wrinkles filled with mud, blood and fuel. Tired sunken eyes, the right side of his face painted black from when he writhed in the swamp. Everything he had grown to adore about himself was gone and replaced with... this. But he could do something about the mess, a few handfuls of water carefully splashed on his face. It was an improvement but just served to reveal all the aged facets of his appearance.