04-29-2015, 03:24 PM
As Elias shifted the straps digging painfully into the thin muscles of his shoulders, the idea dawned on him like some shocking revelation. I am an idiot, he thought to himself. In one fell swoop he pushed the straps backward, and a heavy bag of gear fell to the snow. The relief from the sudden weightlessness immediately straightened his spine, and he stretched. A week hiking along the Moscow river, bearing camping gear, and it only hit him today that he had no need to actually carry it.
He frowned down at the lump in the snow. Of course, there was a trade off. If he used power to carry the pack along, the power might scare off the thing he was trying to track. His theory was the creature that lived in the waters of the Moscow River was frightened of powerusers. Perhaps that was why it attacked when Elias came close to the water's surface and why it abandoned them when that power was actually turned upon it. The other disadvantage was more practical. If he used power to lift the bag alongside him as he walked, he could not simultaneously use the power to warm the air around him as he progressed. An hour into this dogged adventure and he was cold to the bone. Five days later and he was sure he would never know warmth again. The sun was thin and distant overhead, like it laughed at his predicament.
"Screw it,"
he muttered to himself. He seized his power, and with its light came the heat of an erupting volcano, yet simultaneously he was much more aware of the painful cold. His toes ached inside thick black boots laced up his calf, although those laces were obscured by the length of a heavy black coat, but at least his feet were dry. Trudging through knee-depth snow for a week tested the seams of one's shoes.
He closed the furred edges of his collar snug around his throat and used that power to lift the gear so it would float alongside him. There were spaces around the water bank, frozen in the shallower depths although the center of the river flowed more freely as they neared the city and traffic kept the forces churning, so he had no need to navigate the floating bag under or through low-hanging branches. Yet once in a while an ambitious tree made him duck beneath a giant barked arm.
Soon he grew hungry. Jerky and tuna grew old after so many days, but he was never a finicky eater. He sat for a break on a stone slab that stuck out over the water like the diving board into the pools of the wealthier among their congregation growing up. He was digging through the pack for a canned meal when a whisper was carried on the wind. He was sure he would never have heard voices otherwise if not for the heightened senses given by the power. Surely, he peered across the water and saw two women. The river was far too wide to hear what they were saying, but Elias smirked at himself anyway, imagining what they were doing out here. Certainly not on the same journey as himself? Russians were insane with their competitive drive to out-perform others in extreme sports. Ice swimming, glacial-climbing, cage-diving.
He shrugged to himself, assuming he would never find out either way. Besides, keeping to himself was the best for everyone anyway. Although gloved, cold fingers fumbled with the tuna, so now that he and the pack were seated, he used the break to warm the air around himself with nettings of fire power. He immediately relaxed, loosened the fur around his collar and peeled off the gloves. His skin was terribly white against all the black, but at least it was warm.
He dug into the tuna and watched the girls. Eventually, if one noticed him, he would wave a subtle hello, even against his better judgement.
He frowned down at the lump in the snow. Of course, there was a trade off. If he used power to carry the pack along, the power might scare off the thing he was trying to track. His theory was the creature that lived in the waters of the Moscow River was frightened of powerusers. Perhaps that was why it attacked when Elias came close to the water's surface and why it abandoned them when that power was actually turned upon it. The other disadvantage was more practical. If he used power to lift the bag alongside him as he walked, he could not simultaneously use the power to warm the air around him as he progressed. An hour into this dogged adventure and he was cold to the bone. Five days later and he was sure he would never know warmth again. The sun was thin and distant overhead, like it laughed at his predicament.
"Screw it,"
he muttered to himself. He seized his power, and with its light came the heat of an erupting volcano, yet simultaneously he was much more aware of the painful cold. His toes ached inside thick black boots laced up his calf, although those laces were obscured by the length of a heavy black coat, but at least his feet were dry. Trudging through knee-depth snow for a week tested the seams of one's shoes.
He closed the furred edges of his collar snug around his throat and used that power to lift the gear so it would float alongside him. There were spaces around the water bank, frozen in the shallower depths although the center of the river flowed more freely as they neared the city and traffic kept the forces churning, so he had no need to navigate the floating bag under or through low-hanging branches. Yet once in a while an ambitious tree made him duck beneath a giant barked arm.
Soon he grew hungry. Jerky and tuna grew old after so many days, but he was never a finicky eater. He sat for a break on a stone slab that stuck out over the water like the diving board into the pools of the wealthier among their congregation growing up. He was digging through the pack for a canned meal when a whisper was carried on the wind. He was sure he would never have heard voices otherwise if not for the heightened senses given by the power. Surely, he peered across the water and saw two women. The river was far too wide to hear what they were saying, but Elias smirked at himself anyway, imagining what they were doing out here. Certainly not on the same journey as himself? Russians were insane with their competitive drive to out-perform others in extreme sports. Ice swimming, glacial-climbing, cage-diving.
He shrugged to himself, assuming he would never find out either way. Besides, keeping to himself was the best for everyone anyway. Although gloved, cold fingers fumbled with the tuna, so now that he and the pack were seated, he used the break to warm the air around himself with nettings of fire power. He immediately relaxed, loosened the fur around his collar and peeled off the gloves. His skin was terribly white against all the black, but at least it was warm.
He dug into the tuna and watched the girls. Eventually, if one noticed him, he would wave a subtle hello, even against his better judgement.