[h3][color=#838A46]The Woods[/color][/h3][hr]
[indent][@Zoey White] [@CaptainSully] [@Searat] [@Tim] [@Rockette]
Frankie had been right, there was no way he would have been able to maneuver through the forest, as trees had practically grown on top of each other. The trunks were large and only offered crevices to squeeze through sometimes. The group was fortunate in the fact that they had a tracker leading the way, as Sully was able to discern where the ground was marred, the trees were scratched, and where there’d been a sign of passing.

The forest was eerily quiet. Occasionally, a limb would creak and groan, there’d be a soft patter of a creature scurrying about, or crack of an old limb under someone’s boot. The sky was covered in the overlapping fingers of the tree. The only light came from the group.

The trees began to open up after about fifteen minutes of tense walking. There a nasty gouge was left in the side of the tree with blood caked around it. It was hard to tell what color it was, to discern it from human or beast. If one followed the arc of the gouge they’d see slickness on the ground—probably more blood. There at the very end was Soldier’s warhammer laying on the ground. It was coated in chunks of viscera and gore. It also sat in the middle of a small clearing. It was apparent that a tussle had gone on here. The tracks were confusing and twisted. Still, there was nothing in sight.

The sound of their foot steps was surprisingly loud in the silence, even if they were trying to muffle them. Beyond the clearing there was noise. Then a female voice let out, “guys! Help me!” If one had to guess, it was Rocket.

A growl licked the air, and from the darkness between the trees slunk out a dog—feral and heavily irradiated. Two more joined it on either side, blocking the way out of the clearing. It was hard to tell if that was all of them, and the one in front wasted no time running at the group, with one stood behind, and the other looked behind it—where Rocket would have yelled from.[/indent]
[h3][color=#838A46]Graveside[/color][/h3][hr]
[indent][@Rtron] [@Simple Unicycle] [@WXer]
Shepherd paid them no mind as they conversed among themselves on who would go into the forest. It was too late. He grasped at his son’s hand, the warmth slowly fading from it. When he looked up, he saw the three standing over him, offering their help and a bottle of whiskey. He was not a drinking man, but he took it from the gentleman’s hand. He unscrewed the lid and took a long drink from it, wheezing afterward.

“Thank you kindly,” he said. Slowly he stood, using the bottle to leverage him up. With a slow shuffle, he headed to the other cart and procured two shovels. He looked up at Frankie, and then back down—handing him a shovel. Whatever he might have thought of the supermutant was not shown at that moment. He then walked to the edge of the tree line and tapped against the ground with the bottom of the shovel, looking for anywhere that was soft. He managed to locate a small square of dirt that’d recently been upturned. He placed the shovel there. Asking no help, he picked up his son’s body, far larger and heavier than the diminutive old man should have carried. He placed him by the shovel. Then he returned for the head. All the while, he was taking large drinks from the whiskey.

A tear ran down his face as he started to dig the grave. Minutes passed in which he assumed the supermutant was assisting him. He was so dedicated and focused on his task that he failed to notice anyone around him. A few feet down, Shepherd knew he didn’t have the time or stamina to dig a seven-foot hole, and he was ready to bury the body. He leaned in for one more scoop. 

His shovel clanked against metal. He looked up. Swirling the shovel over the spot, he noticed that there was a metal chest. On the top of it was painted: “Vault 76 Trinkets.”

Shepherd looked up. “Isn’t that where the silverfish came from? It can’t be good to open such a thing. We should bury Isaac here and leave it well enough alone.”[/indent]