This is The Age That You Start Losing Friends

[Cake]

[[Kyran Dean Continued From: Gonna Miss Me By My Walk... Miss Me By My Talk, Oh.]]

Kyran stood at the edge of the bridge, looking back at the trail of wildfire leading to and from the Parish and the Ravine he'd caused.

Never in his life did he think he'd be doing purposeful damage to the environment, but here he was. Then again, he didn't expect to have done a lot of things that happened over this past week. Certainly not shooting rapid burst of gun-power from a high caliber assault rifle.

For a second he stretched his arm, which held the burden of the AK47 within it's carrying case. Still had bullets to spare.

The fires raged, not super destructive as he'd expected, but strangely beautiful in the twilight of night near the horizon of the ocean. The sizzles were soft, with flames dancing in the air almost in unison from the bushes and line of trees aligning his path. Dang he wasn't becoming a budding arsonist was he?

Regardless, this was a clear sight, a clear path to the Parish. Which unfortunately had no one currently in or guarding. For any newcomers to approach and feel safe. Kyran kind of questioned it all within, but still he did it. There was something about this, that Michael was doing. Kyran had the feeling. Something deeper than just signaling for other people to go to the Parish. For all they knew it could be a trap (even though it isn't).

Still, he hoped friends on his 'to find list' like Kris Hartmann, Roy Benson or Johnny Lancer, whom he didn't find yet, would find their ways back to him instead.

He couldn't afford to lose more friends.

Kyran peered over the bridge, noticing a flock of white, nesting over the rocks of the shores below. Seagulls everywhere, mostly sleeping. Sleep sounded good, but he had a mission. He crossed the bridge, careful not to ignite it with the torch.

There was a bag he decided he wanted to get if it was still there. His bag.

[[Kyran Dean Continued To: Hero? But I'm a Kid Like Everyone Else.]]