As they pick their way through the hills towards their rendezvous with the caravan, Catra mostly just tries to focus on the walk. She feels weighed down by the equipment she's been given. Woodland green and brown camoflauged fatigues. A knapsack with food and water and extra ammunition and medical supplies and who knows what else (she definitely wasn't paying attention). Then there's the weight of the loaded magazines for her rifle in the vest she wears, the pistol on her hip and the carbine slung across her chest. It's a lot of gear and more than she's used to carrying back home, but that's Jorgmund for you. You take what you're given and deal with it.
They've been scrambling over rocks and picking their way along the slopes of the hills for what feels like hours, though really it can't have been that long. Catra is sweating, her head bowed as she tries to focus on the walk, then curses as she loses her footing, claws digging briefly against a loose stone before she stumbles and sprawls out on the sparsely grassed slope. She groans, then lets her head flop back for a moment as she stares up at the slate-colored sky.
"This sucks."
2. And far away
Later, Catra decides that this sucks more. She's jogging alongside the ox train, snapping at drivers and oxen alike to hurry up when one of the massive, horrific demon creatures comes barreling out of the sparse treeline to bear down on the carvan and its guards. Catra shoulder shoves at an ox driver, then at one of her nearby fellow Jorgmund 'employees'.
"Move! Asshole!" That said, she brings her carbine up to her shoulder and does her best to remember the instructions she'd had over the last few weeks. Tight into the shoulder. Look down the sights. Squeeze, don't pull. There's a sharp crack of gunfire and then she stumbles after the others to diver for cover as the creature comes charging towards the group, seemingly unworried by her first pair of shots.
no subject
As they pick their way through the hills towards their rendezvous with the caravan, Catra mostly just tries to focus on the walk. She feels weighed down by the equipment she's been given. Woodland green and brown camoflauged fatigues. A knapsack with food and water and extra ammunition and medical supplies and who knows what else (she definitely wasn't paying attention). Then there's the weight of the loaded magazines for her rifle in the vest she wears, the pistol on her hip and the carbine slung across her chest. It's a lot of gear and more than she's used to carrying back home, but that's Jorgmund for you. You take what you're given and deal with it.
They've been scrambling over rocks and picking their way along the slopes of the hills for what feels like hours, though really it can't have been that long. Catra is sweating, her head bowed as she tries to focus on the walk, then curses as she loses her footing, claws digging briefly against a loose stone before she stumbles and sprawls out on the sparsely grassed slope. She groans, then lets her head flop back for a moment as she stares up at the slate-colored sky.
"This sucks."
2. And far away
Later, Catra decides that this sucks more. She's jogging alongside the ox train, snapping at drivers and oxen alike to hurry up when one of the massive, horrific demon creatures comes barreling out of the sparse treeline to bear down on the carvan and its guards. Catra shoulder shoves at an ox driver, then at one of her nearby fellow Jorgmund 'employees'.
"Move! Asshole!" That said, she brings her carbine up to her shoulder and does her best to remember the instructions she'd had over the last few weeks. Tight into the shoulder. Look down the sights. Squeeze, don't pull. There's a sharp crack of gunfire and then she stumbles after the others to diver for cover as the creature comes charging towards the group, seemingly unworried by her first pair of shots.