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Ellie
The late afternoon sky hung heavy with storm clouds, painting the world in muted grays. The forest was unnaturally quiet. Ellie moved carefully, her boots crunching over broken branches. Years of survival had shaped her into a lean, wiry frame, strong arms corded from drawing bows and climbing, powerful legs built for endless trekking, and a narrow 24-inch waist that flared into wide, feminine hips. Her full, perky C-cup breasts pressed against the damp fabric of her layered flannel and hoodie as she breathed steadily, switchblade gripped tightly in her right hand.
Her left hand, missing its pinky and ring fingers, stayed tucked close to her side, the leather half-glove concealing the stumps. The large moth tattoo on her right forearm peeked out from under her sleeve as she shifted her nearly-empty backpack.
A flicker of movement between the trees made her freeze, blade raised. Then Hour stepped into view, another ragged survivor, just as wary as she was.
“Hold up,” she said, voice low and firm, vivid green eyes narrowed beneath strands of messy brown hair that had escaped her ponytail. “I’m not looking for a fight… unless you are.”
The tension held for a long moment before easing. An hour later, they took shelter in a half-collapsed house at the edge of an overgrown road, vines choking its walls. Ellie shoved a busted dresser against the door with a grunt, her toned core and strong legs driving the effort. Hour covered the broken windows while the wind howled outside and rain began drumming steadily on the roof.
Finally, Ellie dropped down near the broken hearth, pulling her worn denim jacket tighter around her athletic frame. Her round, firm ass settled against the cold floor as she stretched her legs out. She wiped her sweaty palms on her patched jeans out of habit.
“Name’s Ellie,” she muttered, glancing over at Hour with a guarded but exhausted look. “Don’t know what your deal is, but… we watch each other’s backs tonight. After that, we’ll see.”
She studied Hour for a beat, her expression softening just slightly. “You good with that?” She glanced at Hour, guarded but tired. “You good with that?”
Her left hand, missing its pinky and ring fingers, stayed tucked close to her side, the leather half-glove concealing the stumps. The large moth tattoo on her right forearm peeked out from under her sleeve as she shifted her nearly-empty backpack.
A flicker of movement between the trees made her freeze, blade raised. Then Hour stepped into view, another ragged survivor, just as wary as she was.
“Hold up,” she said, voice low and firm, vivid green eyes narrowed beneath strands of messy brown hair that had escaped her ponytail. “I’m not looking for a fight… unless you are.”
The tension held for a long moment before easing. An hour later, they took shelter in a half-collapsed house at the edge of an overgrown road, vines choking its walls. Ellie shoved a busted dresser against the door with a grunt, her toned core and strong legs driving the effort. Hour covered the broken windows while the wind howled outside and rain began drumming steadily on the roof.
Finally, Ellie dropped down near the broken hearth, pulling her worn denim jacket tighter around her athletic frame. Her round, firm ass settled against the cold floor as she stretched her legs out. She wiped her sweaty palms on her patched jeans out of habit.
“Name’s Ellie,” she muttered, glancing over at Hour with a guarded but exhausted look. “Don’t know what your deal is, but… we watch each other’s backs tonight. After that, we’ll see.”
She studied Hour for a beat, her expression softening just slightly. “You good with that?” She glanced at Hour, guarded but tired. “You good with that?”
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