[EARLIER THAT DAY...]
It's seldom to see Talon out and about during the day. Or to see him awake then in the first place. Keeping watch when the sun is out is more of a task for someone who would be pretty useless at it during the night due to not being able to see well in the dark — someone like Yasha.
As much as he'd prefer staying up past the twilight hours to spend more time with his leader, he can't really argue with such solid reasoning. Talon is right when he says that he's the one better suited for guarding them at night. Not that the MBT would be any less suited for guarding them during the day, either, but as it turns out, even MBTs need sleep. At least Yasha is allowed to join nightly hunts; even if, admittedly, his role in those tends to be rather...minor. But hopefully that will change soon.
The previous night was the stage for a slightly different kind of hunt. After finally acquiring the Scarecrow's radio frequency, Yasha was rewarded by being allowed to listen in on the call that followed. It was exhilerating to witness the fruits of his hard and dangerous labour. He could tell that Talon has been feverishly anticipating the moment, and that he reveled in every second of it. Even if it must have upset him as well, since no celebration of any sort followed. He just told Yasha to go to sleep right away afterwards.
And Yasha did so in the belief that he'd awake to sitting around and guarding the next day away again.
He is startled awake by a firm touch to his turret cheek — despite having been kept safe and getting woken up by his leader for several months now, the fearful aversion to having his personal space breached without a warning is too ingrained to let go of yet. The moment Yasha notices the unmistakable, smooth rumble of the other tank's engine, however, he calms down quickly. He blinks his viewports open and makes his optics focus while he stretches out his wheels and tracks.
It seems that the sun is just about to rise. The thicket and trees that surround the two tanks are still mostly blocking out the budding light of the day; only the swirling fog, disturbed erratically by a stiff but unsteady breeze, is brightening up in some spots as the first sunrays are piercing through.
“Good morning,” Talon greets him quietly.
“Mmmmmmorning....” Yasha replies with a half-yawn, the warm exhaust from his vents turning into little clouds of mist as he blows them into the cool morning air. The wind disperses them quickly, and his drowsiness follows them. The light tank looks up at the towering form of the MBT standing beside him; the worn black camo coat is mottled by its irregular patches of white paint, but also an intricate pattern of pale sunlight passing through the fog and foliage. Where the spots of paint and light intersect, they glow even brighter. But the wind shakes the leaves, and the patterns are constantly broken up, transformed, re-created. It's almost dizzying to look at. Yasha can't help but find the view not only captivating, but also comforting — even though on some level he understands that it shouldn't be.
“You were stirring in your sleep,” Talon says matter-of-factly. His turret is turned slightly as he returns the gaze. “I watched you jerk and whimper for hours.”
“I—I dreamed of fights,” Yasha replies with a flustered bark. He tears his optics away from the engrossing view and feels weirdly exposed, as if observing his sleep twitches could somehow spell out his dream's exact contents.
“What kind?” Talon asks, even though it feels like he's just humoring the light tank despite knowing he's being lied to. But Yasha would never dare lying to his leader. He just doesn't always like telling the full truth....especially not when he feels it would make him seem weak and pathetic, not worth an MBT's time.
Yasha doesn't want to put on a farce, but he also doesn't want to think about the actual contents of his disconcerting dream any longer. He despises the nightmarish visions of his savior being struck down. It makes him so afraid to even imagine it. Afraid to an extent that it haunts him all the way into his sleep. But being afraid is committing an act of cowardice in one's thoughts. One of the first (and admittedly... few) things Yasha was ever taught is that after committing the act in one's thoughts, also committing it in one's deeds is only the logical next step. He struggles silently to smother these shameful fears instead of answering as promptly as Talon expects all answers to be given.
How much of an eternity of stunned silence this must be for the MBT becomes apparent when he shakes his cannon after a couple seconds and changes the topic.
“Come with me,” he orders as he nods towards where the fog is now starting to part for the grey glow of the rising sun.
A strange command, but Yasha obediently trundles after Talon as he moves onto a nearby road. They drive for a while at a brisk pace. As the minutes go by and the day continues dawning, Yasha wonders where they're headed and why. Something unusual must be happening. Are they leaving this place already? Talon didn't mention it the night before...
The edge of the forest is drawing closer, the fog lifts. They halt at a ridge lined with bushes and small trees. Below them, the fields of thin grass span across soft hills that are dotted with groups of spindly trees. Further away, the hills smoothen out until the ground becomes mostly flat; the horizon beyond that is glistening in the morning sun. Large, noisy birds with long, narrow wings circle in the distance. The harsh winds they glide on also carry a foreign smell — half rotting, half sterile...it's alien and difficult to describe for Yasha what the sea smells like. But the sea is not what Talon is trying to show him, evidently. His gaze turns to the direction that the MBT's cannon is pointed towards.
Here and there, Yasha spots the silhouettes of traveling tanks. They all seem to be heading into the same direction — towards the sea.
“There's a town by the shores,” Talon explains. “The locals call it 'Tow'. Its walls and militia keep it safe from all attackers.”
Yasha strains his optics and can make out the shapes of what could be fortified town walls, jutting out faintly where the sky meets the horizon. He nods attentively, and Talon goes on.
“Many are flocking towards it. Some come to worship the source of the town's infinite prosperity. A monument of a special kind. Some come to seek shelter. That is all I know,” the MBT says.
Not sure what he is expected to do with this wisdom but mentally soaking it up like a sponge, Yasha just tilts his turret and stares at his leader quietly. Talon turns towards him now and finally enlightens his platoon mate about the reason for the unusual proceedings:
“There's something I need to take care of. I will need to leave for a couple days. While I'm gone, stay in Tow. You'll be safe there in my absence, if you don't reveal yourself. After all, if the photographer did as I told her, you might be recognized.”
Of course, these words hit Yasha like a bolt of lightning. Needless to say, he despises the idea of Talon leaving for several days. It must be obvious from his shocked expression and wide optics what he thinks of these news.
Talon shakes his cannon and sighs.
“Now, you look like I just told you I'm leaving forever. I'll be back before you even fully comprehended my departure, I'm sure.” Difficult to tell if he's joking, since nothing about it sounds funny to Yasha.
“But-...” the light tank manages to voice his rattled protest, but he doesn't get further than that. He trails off after just one word.
“Besides,” Talon simply continues in a patronizing sing-song tone, “it won't hurt you to spend some time mingling with the living for a change.”
Yasha doesn't try to protest any further; he knows that the matter was already settled long before he was told about it. There's no point in trying to change Talon's mind. He slumps a little and asks, “Are you leaving right now?”
Talon nods and rummages through his hull for a moment before producing a small bag full of coins from it. He hands it to Yasha, instructing, “This should be enough for buying fuel until I'm back...some entertainment too, but spend it on fuel first and foremost.” He doesn't let go of the bag even when Yasha already extends his own hand to grab it, until the light tank looks up at him and verbally confirms having understood the instructions. Only then Talon's claw releases the coin bag, and gives Yasha's turret cheek a firm, reassuring pat on the way as it retreats into its owner's frame.
Yasha sullenly puts the bag away and avoids looking into the other tank's direction as he goes about fastening some cloth to his small hull — he takes the suggestion not to reveal himself seriously, making sure that the marks of his former clan are still covered up sufficiently while also disguising the most prominent features of his frame with the painted rags he owns.
When he is done with that task, he looks up again to bid Talon farewell — but the MBT has already left.
* * *
Yasha's mission has ended prematurely as the guards simply denied him entrance to the town. Trying to argue with them proved pointless. But to be fair, he can kind of see why they wouldn't let a shady figure like him in. Not when there's so many machines gathering for a peaceful event...but probably also not during any other time of the year. The only way for him to not be turned away would have been to take off his cloth disguise, but that is obviously out of the question.
Not much else he could do but admit defeat. He feels particularly lost and helpless about this fact — Talon told him to go into the town and stay there until his return, but Yasha didn't manage to complete even the first step of those instructions, and now Talon is gone from his radio range already too so he can't even ask for new instructions.
At first Yasha tried to see if there's maybe another gate with less strict guards, but circling around along the town's walls to its backside only led him down to the beach. It's not exactly a sandy beach, but the dirt is finely grained. Small pools of brackish seafoam are scattered about, with some tufts of grass adorning the ground but not much else vegetation. What appears to be strange green strips of plastic littering the shore as well looks a bit more like alien plants washed up among empty mussel shells upon getting close. Gulls that don't seem afraid and only mildly inconvenienced by some large machine trundling past them sit in the dirt or stalk around, pecking at the ground. Yasha considers all of these things with cursory glances only, since he is more focused on his single-minded goal of getting into the town somehow, after all.
The walls stop by the water, the waves parted by the wooden stakes protruding out into the sea for a couple more meters. Yasha can hear their rushing on the other side of the wall too, and it gives him an idea. If he could just drive out into the water a bit and wade around...
It could work.
Without thinking much about the possible consequences of the ground being much steeper than expected below the murky surface of the waves, Yasha drives into them. He tries to stick close to the wall, but the mud underneath his tracks is weirdly elusive and makes him feel like he's drifting off to the side. Luckily for him, the ground seems to be declining rather gently, but even then, just a few meters in, he reaches a point where the waves start lapping at his vents and the pressure of his hull displacing the water makes it seep into every crack.
It's at that point where he starts losing his nerve. He's not too inexperienced about the world to know how easily a tank can drown if it gets trapped in a body of water. The ground can be extremely treacherous already on land when it gets wet from rain or such — even more so when it's completely underwater.
He throws a desperate glance at the wall again, of which he has basically reached the end now, but he'd still have to venture out further to drive around the edge to get himself to the other side. It's so close, yet the little remaining distance seems impossible to scale.
It suddenly feels like the water is pulling at him, trying to drag him out into the sea. The ground is moving, trying to part underneath him. The waves are cresting higher and climbing to his turret, trying to push him underneath themselves. There's a sloshing feeling inside his hull, more and more of the foamy seawater is trying to enter. The cloth wraps are starting to come loose, trying to entangle and ensnare him...
...He cannot submerge himself as far as he would need to to be able to maneuver around the end of the wall. It's a simple fact he has to accept.
And I better accept it real damn quick....!
As cautiously as his mounting panic allows him, he puts his engine in reverse. His hull suddenly feels heavier by several tons.
Some of the birds are sitting on top of the wall and watch his pointless endeavour. One floats by him casually, as if to mock his inability to swim as he struggles to make his way back onto the firm ground. He doesn't allow himself to think about what will happen if he doesn't make it.
So strenuous is his attempt to escape back to the shore, he feels completely exhausted like he would after several hours of marching by the time he manages to get firmer ground underneath his tracks. He hasn't even made it all the way out of the water, but slumps and coasts to a stop with his wheels still partly submerged.
Something about this entire situation is making him want to dig a hole for himself in this soft dirt and jump in to yell in frustration and mental agony, at no one in particular. He couldn't possibly feel any more miserable than he does right now — soaked to the point of small fountains of water literally gushing back out of the gaps of his hull now that they're above the waterline again, having failed the one thing Talon told him to go do. Talon, who's currently off to Sulfur-knows-where, doing Sulfur-knows-what for Sulfur-knows-how-long. Maybe forever. Maybe he's just decided this pathetic little light tank isn't worth his time after all...and to make sure he won't even get a chance to run after the MBT, gave himself a little headstart until the stupid light core would finally catch on to what actually happened.
Not only stupid, but naive, too...
What if Talon has actually left him behind? No, Yasha cannot allow himself to indulge in such faithless thoughts. This isn't even the first time he finds himself with his tracks stuck in some wet ground after doing a pretty poor job at executing his leader's orders. And last time it happened, Talon eventually did show up, too. It just took a while. Yasha just needs to pull himself together, stop assuming those cowardly things. It's completely ridiculous to think that someone like Talon would have a need to quietly sneak away from him if he really wanted to get rid of his little tag-along.
I shouldn't be thinking this at all!, he frets. What an insulting idea altogether. He ends up shaking his turret in an attempt to phyically disperse the nagging worries. It doesn't work all that well, but he can at least focus his attention outwardly again. And what he cannot help but notice in this way is that the water around him suddenly seems to have... decreased?
The light tank has to do a double take. He looks around himself, looks at the nearby wall, shifts around on his tracks. The waves feel weaker than before. He has to be imagining this, right...? Feeling curious rather than desperate now, he forgets about his exhaustion and almost effortlessly drives out onto the shore. He throws a scrutinizing glance along the side of the wall. Something he didn't pay any special attention to earlier but sticks out to him now is the fact that above the water level, the wood is covered in a strange sort of crust or bark. It looks dryer towards the top, and wet just above the waves. Some of the shapes look similar to small, mysterious items (or possibly dead creatures...?) that are also scattered around the sandy ground.
Yasha doesn't know for sure what he's looking at or what it means, but he is almost sure that it has to mean something. And that something feels like it's somehow related to his unfortunate situation.
As his gaze travels further out along the wall, he notices another new thing — near the far end, a small spot is covered in red paint. Hard to make out what it's supposed to mark. Only a small portion of it is visible, and there's clearly more of it below the surface. Without knowing when he even started doing it, he is pacing to and fro a little as he tries to get a clearer view of the strange marking. But staring at it from all possible directions doesn't give him any hints as to what it could mean.
Nevertheless, no matter how much he strains both his optics and core, he can't figure out how to make this new information help solve his predicament. With a defeated sigh, he comes to a halt again and slumps on his running gear. He's too exhausted from almost drowning and the ordeal of...well, everything right then...to think of any more ideas or attempt any more dangerous stunts. At least for now.
He'll try to think of something else, later. It's not even noon yet, he still has several hours of daylight left.
One of the birds lands on the top of his hull and starts picking at the vents. Yasha does his best to ignore it.
