Aalock eyed the woman. It would not be a very, truly noticeable thing but he watched her. She moved as though she had no purpose, and it wasn't her fault entirely. But how could he stand by and watch the cruelties of one agency shackled and chain her to a fate not of her own choosing and another want to kill her for it? It hardly seemed...fair was the best word he could describe it as. It was just another injustice he felt he had to fight against, another thing he had to prove was wrong.
It was nonsensical and a waste f human life--as much so as children starving in the streets while gluttonous families always wanted more to slake their greed. He would put a stop to it. But first, he needed to put a stop to herself loathing. He couldn't say he "knew" her kind, but he had definitely seen the 'symptoms of the festering disease that was a breakdown of her pride. She seemed like such a proud hunter, and it almost wounded him himself to see her shift of with almost a macabre sense of self-respect. He wanted her to be proud. He wanted her to see that even wounded as she was she was still useful.
He wouldn't let this lioness feel self-pity, or feel maimed any longer. It was time to pick herself back up and set her on her feet, to give her a purpose even if it was only momentary. He would make that fleeting moment last as long as he could and draw out that sense of pride he saw caged up in her. He didn't know her story. He didn't care. Because before she had met him, she seemed to be in a bad way, almost as if someone one or something were holding back her true potential. He wasn?t sure if it had to do with that man--he had read in a dossier once that he was called a lone wolf.
He was a fucking coward is what Aalock silently admitted inside his head. They said he was dangerous. Perhaps. But the woman he saw in-front of him, the one carefully maneuvering herself away from in between his legs--she could bite with the speed of a cobra and with the venom of a Black Mamba. He simply had to gain further understanding of her to truly unlock her secrets. Aalock pushed himself of the ground very slowly, most of his upper garments in shreds, although it revealed a rather interesting tale.
Scars; bullet wounds and incision marks not from scalpels put from knives with the same sharpness blemished his deep brown skin. Yet despite the disfigurement, the rippling effect his body held, that of years of acrobatics and even feats which--ordinarily would not even be humanly feasible made it an entirely enticing if ineluctable sight to feast one?s eyes on as if compared to Alphonse or Nick, he was more technically muscular, it was just more evenly spread over his shoulders, arms, pectorals, oblique?s and stomach core which had a 'wavy' appearing almost unrefined as it were, washboard abdominal.
The effect? He appeared like a human Adonis, although he would never, out of modesty, approve of such a description. Still, His corded body was flexible, nimble and outrageously defined. As he stepped by her, be careful with her not like he were patronizing but genuine, he moved on out into an open spaced that as set before them. The foliage provided many examples of different woods, but some he knew were more suited for the task he had in mid. He kept note that she had failed to ask him just what he planned on using the venom for or how he was going to implement it on the hunt itself.
This was not unexpected of course. Few knew of the technique he was going to use, except archeologists and a few would be specialists. In truth, he was going to construct a weapon that had predated the bow and arrow for years, century?s maybe? But surprisingly yet, he was about to include this feline predator. He had the urge to want to make her see she could still be useful. She was still needed and even if that...man hadn't seen her potential--he had. Or may have seen had seen her potential and wanted to suppress it. Aalock would unleash it. She wouldn?t be in pain forever. She wouldn?t be injured or maimed forever. When she could finally get back on her feet he want to give her knowledge, skills, things he had learned over his course of living out here free from the stigma of what was expected of him, so he would free her from the bonds of what she may have felt was expected of her.
The ideal piece of wood he was looking for?and he was meticulous in his pursuit of it had an angle for the smaller side branch would be forty to forty-five degrees from the main branch. Less than forty degrees would work, but the smaller branch would not be parallel and lay flat to the main branch. The diameter of the smaller branch, which would become the ?spur?, should fit the size of the notch hole on your dart. Also, he was sure that the main branch was large and comfortable enough to fit in his hand but also?in hers.
Too small of a size would be unstable during the throwing of the dart. The length of the simple atlatl was subjective, although he would not go smaller than eleven inches. Various types of woods may be used for an atlatl. He would try not to get a branch that is too soft and too flexible. Next, and he would venture a bit further this time away from her he gather river cane and bamboo as they made?opinionatedly?the best materials for the darts which would be thrown from the short-arm lever. Once he had the material he ambled back to camp.
She would no doubt be a curious feline by now, wondering what he, the prey, were doing with such a menagerie of items. Before he started on the weapon he had in mind, he built the fire back up. The flames barely holding in but with the assistance of some much needed dry dead leaves, grasses and the combination of the fuel source of dead limbs the fire was quickly growing again. Switching his focus again, as he knew it would draw her attention?better yet, her curiosity?
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