They ride. Hunting here is a little like hunting back home — it involves packing up, it involves hours or days of travel, hunkering down in suboptimal conditions, tracking the thing down and not coming home until you kill it. The difference here? No motel rooms. No witnesses, no pretense. Just them, the desert, the ground, and a big-ass something ready and willing to tear their heads off.
Dean doesn't typically travel as far out as Geralt. This means he doesn't stay gone as long, and the monsters he tends to hunt are smaller. He makes a little less money for it, but the jobs come a little more frequently, so it balances it.
They're headed for an infrequently travelled caravan road that passes a little too close to the badlands. There've been reports of larval sandskids migrating a little too close for comfort, and getting a little too ballsy. A couple of 'em took down a trader's horse, the driver was lucky to get away with his life, let alone the merchandise.
They need to be brought down before they can mature. They're dangerous as larvae, but that doesn't even compare to how hard they are to take down once they reach adulthood.
They're getting paid by the head here — meaning there's more than one or two. No idea how many, could be anywhere from three to six or seven, more if they're unlucky.
They ride from sun up to sun down before they finally stop to make camp — two bedrolls and a fire, no need for a tent. From cool weather to hot weather to cool again. Further and further from city lights, from civilization, until they lose sight of it entirely, and it's just the two of them, the desert at night, and the potential to get eaten pretty much any time now.
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They ride. Hunting here is a little like hunting back home — it involves packing up, it involves hours or days of travel, hunkering down in suboptimal conditions, tracking the thing down and not coming home until you kill it. The difference here? No motel rooms. No witnesses, no pretense. Just them, the desert, the ground, and a big-ass something ready and willing to tear their heads off.
Dean doesn't typically travel as far out as Geralt. This means he doesn't stay gone as long, and the monsters he tends to hunt are smaller. He makes a little less money for it, but the jobs come a little more frequently, so it balances it.
They're headed for an infrequently travelled caravan road that passes a little too close to the badlands. There've been reports of larval sandskids migrating a little too close for comfort, and getting a little too ballsy. A couple of 'em took down a trader's horse, the driver was lucky to get away with his life, let alone the merchandise.
They need to be brought down before they can mature. They're dangerous as larvae, but that doesn't even compare to how hard they are to take down once they reach adulthood.
They're getting paid by the head here — meaning there's more than one or two. No idea how many, could be anywhere from three to six or seven, more if they're unlucky.
They ride from sun up to sun down before they finally stop to make camp — two bedrolls and a fire, no need for a tent. From cool weather to hot weather to cool again. Further and further from city lights, from civilization, until they lose sight of it entirely, and it's just the two of them, the desert at night, and the potential to get eaten pretty much any time now.
Feel good to be back on the job, Jo?