Something like dread takes over him when he sees the figure—is that the girl he was searching for? She doesn’t seem too… demon. No smug smirk or slow strides, no proud remark as an introduction. No way is she a demon.
He frowns. “Home? Like the, uh, trees? The forest?” Educated guess. Some monsters—for lack of a better word—were naturally attached to the forest. It was their safe place, like the Impala was to him. “What are you?” Trust him to be so curious about this stranger that his broken arm didn’t seem so bad anymore. “Can you help me?”
Fleeting touches on the ground make the space between them
shrink, keeping her distance; she recognises the gun immediately
raising it up slightly with a bare foot then kicking it away; she can
recover it later then dispose of the weapon- if not it will make the
spirits uneasy, more volatile.
“My home is the trees, yes, and you are disturbing them."
Eyes narrowing the Pagan slacks off, her posture becoming
relaxed, an injured man is no threat- no matter how tall.
Unsure of how to answer his question she stutters "I am Dakota,
that is all that matters at the end of days. Who are you?”
Distrust laced her voice but the creature couldn’t help pity
the man, nodding cautiously. “Show me where it is broken?”