Shredder XXIII
The figure was sizable. Easily twice Gerard’s weight and more than likely approaching thrice that number. The ranger continued to observe the figure with caution, the strangeness of the scene still reverberating within him. His eyes picked out certain details despite the shadows. She was female, and naked, and bald, and unless his perceptions deceived him, a fine hue of blue.
Gerard picked up a nearby piece of wood and tossed the thumb sized chunk at the interloper. With no fanfare, the wooden missile bounced off the lower back of the figure without effect. His body wished to continue the race but his mind was intrigued enough to investigate further. He emitted a low whistle laced with enough sentience to serve as a signal. Nothing.
“Miss?” he finally tried, but there was still no response.
Moving without sound adjacent to the figure, Gerard lowered one hand to the back of a knee to check for blood flow. She was cold to the touch. Too cold. A fine pulse danced under his fingertips, but he gathered it wouldn’t last long if she remained exposed as she was.
Gerard sighed, glancing around. They couldn’t stay here. Any predator sensing her arrival would be approaching. The ranger unfurled his bedroll and covered most of her inert form as he tried to figure the best way to move her.
“I don’t suppose you’d be up for a stroll?” he asked her.