“The days are regimented here and though you should expect him to leave me in the tundra if I were to fall behind, you could say I am well fed and energized, so do not worry. Though all that he provides in the way of foodstuffs is deer meat, I’ve relied on my rations of tin vegetables and and have taken up the hobby of fishing to satisfy a varied diet.
We hunt most hours of the day, he kills the animals leaving me to fix them to sleds and drag the carcasses, sometimes miles at a time back to the cave where he does not permit me to enter. I’ve been used as little more than a pack mule in these trips but from what I understand he brings me along to observe. It is difficult discerning him as he does not speak, or chooses not to, and he refrains from physical conversation beyond simple gestures when it pleases him. He engages in other activities on a mysterious schedule and he seems to make good use of any time I am away or the rare chance I may be caught sleeping. I’ve stepped outside for only minutes and returned to find a fully skinned and gutted carcass splayed upon the table with its spine removed and ground into sludge. He was sitting in his chair.
He acts like a shadow, constantly moving about the walls rather than cross the floor. If I don’t watch him closely it is easy to lose track of him, even in this confined cabin space. During the nights (if one can call them as such, they are little more than dim evenings here) he sits across from the bed, facing the snuffed out fireplace, barely visible in his dark and oiled wraps. Comfortable sleep has become a luxury, on more than one occasion I have awoke to find he had rotated to face me, his gaunt statuesque form with long fingers clutching the ends of the arm rests. I suppose it goes without saying that he does not make for good company.
I have yet to fully understand what we are doing here, I do hope it is revealed soon. As things are though, I may be here for some time.
Oh, the tales he could tell her, the wonders he has seen...
...if only he had not forgotten how to speak.
At any rate, based on the other clues in the series, I now believe him to be an impeccably chivalrous gentleman at heart, and a kindly old grandfatherly figure, if ravaged by some form of dementia.
I always struggled to make comments-little chapters to my pictures because I thought that's language barrier (stays still as high wall on my way), my own young writing skills and lack of professional skill will ruin whole idea and it will look as much edgy and unnatural as my inner critic sees it.
Your piece, your mix of art and story, looking into it makes me want to try it again, to return to my ideas and to make a first step.
...Well, you can not read previous words, I just wanted to say that's your art is very inspiring and even little pieces we get from you - they create whole new world with it's own stories, tragedies and adventures. Thank you for that artistic inspiring, it's very rare and unique quality, usually looking at professionals delivers for low artists anxiety at minimum, if not worse.
Thank you for your art.
Awesome art and awesome writing!
Do you take commissions?
So anyway this creepy zombie dude, who at the time was a creepy middle aged guy with a swastica on his forehead (zomg so edgy!) and gross flesh mutating superpowers was interested in her because of course she had something he wanted and couldn't get from anywhere else blah blah long story short, they wound up together and formed an uneasy and sinister relationship.
I grew up a bit and realized how dumb all that was, and creepy swastica guy turned into this stoic undead (or is he? ooOOooh) guy who still has some interest in this girl but I'm hoping that when it comes to me it won't be so cliche I guess. Or maybe neither of them are particularly interested in the other and this meeting they have in the arctic is just the start of something new rather than the culmination of something growing between them prior. I don't really know.
I have a lot of ideas going on in my head and I try to mask the fact that they are very very fragmented by writing short stories that kinda go along with the general vibe of the idea. And from these stories I slowly piece together a larger narrative.
That's all a long way of saying, "What you see is what I got."
He is very worried because he's aware she has the same disease he is affected by.
That's why he doesn't speak and look at her while she's sleeping: he's trying to collect ideas to find a cure.
The secret agency they are working for is going to use Maya as a replacement for Flechette but he won't let theme hurt her.
Thats a zombie.