[It was like being brought back from the dead. The darkness, the nothingness of sleep before being jolted awake with the weight of so much more than command on his shoulders. He hadn't fully processed the promise he had made or felt the full weight of regret, guilt and grief from his world's end. So many lives were lost, only those that he knew and love had been spared, now used as some sort of bargaining chip. It was sickening, but left him with little choice. He couldn't protect Westeros, but he could protect his family.
The descent jostles memories loose in his mind. A Wall stretching up towards the sky and him dangling in the air, nearly falling as he attempted to scale it. Don't scream, that was what Tormund had said. He braced himself, anticipating a rough impact. Yet it was smoother than he imagined. Others had been launched first and they had cleared the way for the rest.
It doesn't take long before he's out of the pod and on his feet, scavenging for supplies that the could use. There are others around him, those that had been deployed as well, eager to work as hard and keep their promise too. He holds out a small tent, a treasure among the wreckage.]
Here, take this.
B. MAKING CAMP
[It wasn't different from his trip beyond the Wall. There was a task for everyone, so long as they wanted to make it through the night. It felt natural to gather kindling again and light a fire. It was at least warmer, enough that he didn't need to sit too closely to the flames.
He sat a bit further from the rest, skinning and cleaning the...whatever creature this was during his hunt. Meat was meat and they couldn't be too picky about what graced their plates. After tongue and horse, he didn't really taste anything anymore.
Bringing over the meat, he knelt beside the fire.]
We don't have a cooking spit?
[That would make things difficult.]
C. SLEEP IS FOR THE DEAD
[He could see the others drifting off, getting as much sleep as they were able. There were too many thoughts in his head, all keeping him awake and restless. He sat up, staring up at the sky, searching for the moon and stars he knew, but only seeing strange constellations in their place. This wasn't home, it wouldn't ever feel like home.
It wasn't in his nature to sit idle. With a sharp scrap of metal and a branch, he began to fashion a spear for later use. The whittling would at least keep him calm and give him something to focus on until the sun came up.
Someone stirred nearby, glancing at him curiously.]
Jon Snow l 5th Wave l OTA
[It was like being brought back from the dead. The darkness, the nothingness of sleep before being jolted awake with the weight of so much more than command on his shoulders. He hadn't fully processed the promise he had made or felt the full weight of regret, guilt and grief from his world's end. So many lives were lost, only those that he knew and love had been spared, now used as some sort of bargaining chip. It was sickening, but left him with little choice. He couldn't protect Westeros, but he could protect his family.
The descent jostles memories loose in his mind. A Wall stretching up towards the sky and him dangling in the air, nearly falling as he attempted to scale it. Don't scream, that was what Tormund had said. He braced himself, anticipating a rough impact. Yet it was smoother than he imagined. Others had been launched first and they had cleared the way for the rest.
It doesn't take long before he's out of the pod and on his feet, scavenging for supplies that the could use. There are others around him, those that had been deployed as well, eager to work as hard and keep their promise too. He holds out a small tent, a treasure among the wreckage.]
Here, take this.
B. MAKING CAMP
[It wasn't different from his trip beyond the Wall. There was a task for everyone, so long as they wanted to make it through the night. It felt natural to gather kindling again and light a fire. It was at least warmer, enough that he didn't need to sit too closely to the flames.
He sat a bit further from the rest, skinning and cleaning the...whatever creature this was during his hunt. Meat was meat and they couldn't be too picky about what graced their plates. After tongue and horse, he didn't really taste anything anymore.
Bringing over the meat, he knelt beside the fire.]
We don't have a cooking spit?
[That would make things difficult.]
C. SLEEP IS FOR THE DEAD
[He could see the others drifting off, getting as much sleep as they were able. There were too many thoughts in his head, all keeping him awake and restless. He sat up, staring up at the sky, searching for the moon and stars he knew, but only seeing strange constellations in their place. This wasn't home, it wouldn't ever feel like home.
It wasn't in his nature to sit idle. With a sharp scrap of metal and a branch, he began to fashion a spear for later use. The whittling would at least keep him calm and give him something to focus on until the sun came up.
Someone stirred nearby, glancing at him curiously.]
Did I wake you?