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[color=#D98719][B][SUP]S O L D I E R  E N C A M P M E N T  -  Z A L E R A  T U N D R A[/SUP][/B][/color]
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[indent][color=lightgray]Boots squelched on formless slush entombed somewhere between free-flowing liquid and rigid solid. The steps followed a steady procession each impact regulated and precise. They froze as the man that the feet belonged to adjusted the load that was bearing down on his shoulders. The shifting of shoulders sent soundless drops of blood falling to the greedy earth. The outward breath a white plume as water vapor condensed in the air. Then the footsteps renewed themselves cutting a path through the encampment. Finally stopping at a tent of geodesic form made to counter the winds of the tundra.

With a low grunt Corr deposited the load. The hulking lifeless form of an elk flopping to the ground. The Govern had provided the encampment with standard military supply yet Corr refused. A simple underlying indentation in his brain from youth. Food was not given to you, food was earned. He gave a final prayer over the carcass compelling its spirit to find some measure of rest before he set to work. Beginning the methodical process of pulling away flesh and separating meat from bone. Time seemed to accelerated forward at a hastened pace and when he finally looked up the sun had bled away into encroaching darkness.

He wiped the blood from his hands with a rag as he watched the sky. The expanding darkness a comforting sight after what felt like years trapped inside. It reminded him of home, of simpler times. Sleek forms of Shyps broke across his vision as they came in for a landing on the perimeter of the encampment. The awaited arrival. The movement arose short sparks of activity among the scattered denizens of the camp. Corr finished storing the meat at a careful pace as if afraid of tipping some unseen scale. Using the same rag from earlier he went about cleaning his knife as he listened to the scurry of activity. 

These Shyps would be containing the last of the SOLDIERS. Corr himself had arrived a little over a week ago settling himself with little pomp. In that time what information Corr had learned of the upcoming mission did not do much to quell any unease. Having gone over the simple three page mission briefing over and over again for any scrap of detail. At its heart it was a simple smash and grab, nothing that the regular military couldn't handle. They claimed it was for secrecy but special operations and emergency response were trained for things like this. Yet the Govern had deemed it necessary to play their proverbial ace in the sleeve. For all intents and purposes Corr knew it for what it was a test run, and test runs didn't come without surprises.

He wasn't on duty but never the less made his way towards the landing area, keeping up appearances and all.  He stood in direct juxtaposition to the camp he traversed to meet the coming Shyps. Dressed in what the kindest of souls would describe as an ensemble of rags and tattered furs. He looked more at home roughing it in the wilderness than he did a military excursion. Death as it were not avoided with metal defenses but rather welcomed to try. Personnel moved frantically - the simultaneous release and build up of the tension within the camp. The shyps setting forth the next stage of a task three weeks in the making .

As he approached the perimeter there was a sound akin to a slow-moving rockslide. The others around him didn't seem to react, for the sound itself was internal in origin, trapped. Corr sighed as he halted his movements and scanned the horizon ahead. He sighed as he caught the origin of the discontent. Underneath his breath he whispered. "Yeah I get it you don't like em. Too bad."

A stretch of silence was the only response.

The subjects in question were two of his companions clustered ahead of him, Bruce and Carmen. As opposed to his stalwart companion Corr was not a particular fan of judging on impression. The Fayth teaching understanding more often than it did discrimination. Yet he would be lying if he said he did not feel the looming sense of unease. When he was younger he would watch the storms approach from the belfry, it was a similar feeling of impending conflict. Yet partly he knew that was of his 'friend's' influence as it was not the most sociable of creatures. The mere presence of its own kind generating a level of unappreciated unease. Despite this he walked forward and made no attempts to hide his approach.

He positioned himself between the two with a respectful distance between each. Undeterred by the flurry of wind and slush that seemed to circle around Carman. Upon closer inspection his veins pulsed with a green glow achieving heightened homeostasis to combat the increased chill. He fixed the wrappings on his hands as they awaited for the lowering of landing ramps.

"You know, you two are intimidating enough without your constant glower and your wind." He mused only loud enough for them to hear. It was less of a jab as it were more of a half-hearted truth. Though Corr knew its purpose, he himself didn't see much merit in the alpha dog routine. Respect was earned not forced through fear or gesticulation.

Finally in quick succession the ramps of the Shyps dropped and out walked their cargo. Corr pivoted his body as a blurr moved past him before progressing into a pool of anger and vomit. Despite himself Corr give a muted laugh though he did note that he was going to have to keep an eye out for that one. He titled his head backwards towards the display as if to further demonstrate his earlier point. 

He fell back into a comfortable silence giving a small wave to the approaching SOLDIERS. A peculiar center of warmth amongst building unease.
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