Turns the hours into days

More song titles. WIP. Part 2 of a comission.

Day had already broken cold and grey, and the man turned aside from the main road and climbed the bank of earth, where a branched-off trail led through the spruce timberland East. It was a steep bank, and he paused for a breath at the top of it. He excused the act to himself by glancing down at his wristwatch.

 

It was nine o’ clock, and not a hint of sun in the sky. Normally a crisp blue this time of year, it was now blanketed fully with clouds. It brought an intangible pall over the face of the landscape, a subtle gloom that attempted to lower the spirits of those beneath the shadows.

 

In Dante’s case, it wasn’t working.  He had grown used, for the most part, to the dreary weather of the area, and it failed to dampen his good mood. It felt good, being out here, in the middle of nowhere. It gave off an aura of safety, and he could be temporarily deluded into believing no one could find them here.

 

Glancing off into the horizon, he scanned the hundreds of trees that covered most of his sight, slightly discouraged. He had no idea where to search within the towering foliage, and most certainly didn’t want to get lost within them. It would surprise him none if it would be impossible for someone to find their way out of them. 

 

He had good humor on his trip to the area, and had recently arrived in the particular area. After pleading with Greg the previous night about going out for the day to explore the area, and hopefully bring back something for them to eat, he finally got his way. He would, Dante assured, be back to their improvised camp by six that evening. Darkness would be falling soon afterwards, a fire would no doubt be going, and something hot to eat would be ready.

 

The thoughts of food led to his hand straying to the protruding bundle in the pocket of his flannel jacket. He would’ve preferred more than the few biscuits, but he wouldn’t go hungry.

 

Finally making up his mind, he descended the crest, a far easier task than climbing it, before plunging in among the large spruce trees.

 

A variety of scents bombarded his nostrils unexpectedly, giving him a sudden headache. Shifter blood gave him a higher dependency on the sense of smell than regular humans, and the sudden attacks on his nostrils was disorienting. They seemed to be coming from each direction, and it took a few minutes of walking before he could finally sort them apart.