Daxter hunched over, clutching his arms as the cold water hit his back.
"C-cold.." He mumbled, shuddering. Jak smiled fondly, rubbing away the thick mud caked onto the young red head's back. Jak shuddered slightly at the prominent pattern of Daxter's spine painfully stuck out, just like his ribs. As the mud started to slip away, Jak's eyes widened as numerous scars indenting Daxter's back became obvious. Littered among the freckles and bruises, were several shining, smooth scars that jaggedly decorated his skin. Daxter froze as he felt Jak run a finger over the largest one in the middle of his shoulders. He whipped round.
"G-get yer hands off
Daxter clutched his arms, looking away from the two villagers. Jak's eyes slit, giving a clear message to the Sage.
Want to say that again?
The Sage raised an eyebrow at the two young boys.
“Jak. This vagabond is nothing but trouble.”
Jak shook his head, stepping closer to Daxter.
“I'm sure you've seen him around, all he does is pester the other villagers and steal food. Get him away from the village, and you best stay away from him!” Samos ordered. Jak grit his teeth.
“I don't want to steal yer food!” Daxter suddenly burst. “But I have to! Otherwise I'll starve.” Daxter was shuddering, afra
Jak smiled at the young boy, instantly knowing they had made friends. Daxter rubbed his arms.
"So... Ya can't speak? At all?" He whispered, predicting the obvious. Jak nodded.
"Oh... Okay." Daxter looked at his hands, splintered and caked in blood.
"I'm... I need to go wash this off." He looked at the waterfall longingly, imagining the cool water washing the blood of his oversized hands. Jak suddenly clutched Daxter’s wrist. Daxter flinched at the sudden contact. He looked at the hand.
“What?” He asked his eyes wide. Jak tugged at Daxter, starting to pull him.
Towards Sandover.
Daxter pulled at Jak’s firm yet gentl
Daxter ran as fast as he could, through the thick, warm sand. He could hear the thumps as the boy behind him refused to stop following him. Surely he was running after him to tell him off about breaking the crate? Because that's the only reason why villagers ever took notice of him. He rounded a corner, coming across the waterfall.
He knew what to do.
Daxter had recently found a small cave behind the waterfall, just big enough for Daxter to hide in comfortably. Checking that the boy wouldn't see where he was going, Daxter dived through the Water into the small cave. He gasped at the sudden surge of cold water, already starting to shiver. Da
Jak looked out to the wide sea, only the outline of Misty Island visible despite the crystal-clear day. He sat, cross-legged, on the hill next to Samos' hut, in his own little world. That seemed to be Jak's favourite passtime.
It helped him to forget the bad things.
The screams.
The gunshots.
The bad people.
Even on his first week in Sandover, He could already feel the bad thoughts starting to fade.
And that's exactly what he wanted.
He looked over the the village, seeing the villagers slowly started to rise from their slumber. He could already hear the *CLANG* of the Sculptor's tools against his latest piece. Jak made a decision to vi
"He needs a name."
Samos stalked around the small hut situated in the centre of Sandover Village. The village Explorer, simply known as Uncle to everyone, nodded in agreement.
"Yeas, he does. We can't just refer to him as 'Boy'." He said, twirling his moustache in a high fashion.
Samos tried to think of a name, before it suddenly clicked.
"Jak!" He nearly shouted. Uncle jumped, nearly ripping out the whole hairy strip off from above his lip.
"Jak? Why are you so sure?" He asked. Samos' eyes wandered over to the corner of the room, unsure about telling the truth to Uncle. Images of the tall, strong renegade hugging his younger self before t
Trials:.a Daxter Fanfic.: Pt 1 by WolfLinkByDarkEco, literature
Literature
Trials:.a Daxter Fanfic.: Pt 1
If it wasn't for his persistant curiosty and bust of bright fiery red and orange hair, no one would have know Daxter was there.
They wouldn't have seen him.
They wouldn't have heard him.
They wouldn't have aknowledged his existence.
And that made the young one feel more lonely than ever.
These thoughts plagued Daxter one particulary cold night. Huddled under an old faded blanket, carressing the only possession he truly cared for, a worn, bronze Precursor orb, these foreboding thoughts ate away at his mind. The young boy, hardly age six, had found a safe spot to hide from the storm raging the island. He was safetly squeezed under a small