The Tree Is Called A Borneo I Think - Tumblr Posts
She pulls out a bottle water and holds it out for him as she sits down next to him without saying another word. They made it this far. Him especially, Sev. Shima could’ve gone on for a little longer, but she wasn’t alone right now.
She had someone, someone human who wasn’t used to this weather right now, despite being a clone trooper. Clone troopers were fragile, just like any other human, as such they were prone to human flaws.
“You’re welcome Sev.” She said offering him a gentle smile.
Especially getting wet in rain like this. And he was so soaked to the bone from the look of it. Didn’t the clones ever hear of self-care? Or at the very least on planets like this, how to make a poncho? Looking up at some of the trees, she spotted huge leaves. Having an idea, She stood up again and walked to one of the trees. She climbed up the trunks with her talons providing her stability without the need of rope.
Pulling out her arm blade, she cut down on of the bigger leaves, hell, leaves bigger than her entire body. Sliding back down she held it over him, providing some shelter for the two of them both.
Sev, ever the Commando, is servicing his gun in the jungle of Kashyyyk of all places, trying not to think about having no idea what his next move is, when he hears the snapping underbrush coming towards him; he doesn’t know who it is, but the lack of Wookie noises isn’t comforting him, and he’s leaning towards the likelihood of his visitor being Droids as he quickly reassembles the blaster rifle, scopes it, and aims at the oncoming sounds.
he’s stranded here, no Republic forces remaining on planet, and uncertain of the outcome of the Battle thus far, having stayed in the woods since his being left behind by his squadmates- so he knows he’s got nothing but the fight in his bones and his wits to keep himself safe. however, luckily, he’s got plenty of both of those in his favor...
breath holds in his chest, a mausoleum of ribs and red-stained armor- he stills his finger against the trigger and squints through the visor that synchs to his sniper-scope, waiting for the indication of whether to fire or hold to explode through the bushes ahead...
sweat slides, all tickling droplets, down his hot skin under his plastoid armor, but he doesn’t waver, and doesn’t speak- his deep, snarling, gravelly voice would only serve to reveal his location, and that would not do until he’s sure of who- or what- is coming through the jungle as he waits there in the clearing.