1990, ???

its been a year now since the plane crashed, some might think they stayed sane..but they were all far from it. It was another terrible winter, thankfully they had some deer they could hunt but..sometimes they had to make other plans. They started at 12, now 9 members, they had made makeshift huts out of logs and string and leftvoer things they had managed to save

But this was far from paradise. They had adapted, they were far from people, they acted normal most of the time but you coudk see through there's laughing there glares, especially when there angry. They had this ritual thing that they'd do to decide to leader, a hunt. Which would result in one of there members dying and them eating them, they all decided long ago that collie would lead them, hell like that would do them any good. They were fed, they kept in there groups, they wore animal skins and leftover jumpers and shirts and made makeshift outfits.

Collies outfit was A long, heavy cloak made from layered animal hides and fur, with rough stitching, a large fur-lined hood, and muted earthy tones for warmth and camouflage. Feathers, bones, and worn boots give it a ritualistic, feral look, like clothing worn by a forest-dwelling cult or survivalist group. His partners, dylans was an outfit is made of rough, earth-toned linen and wool layers, with a long, simple cloak draped over a plain tshirt and baggy pants, worn and stained from constant use. It feels humble and austere, fitting someone living in the same forest cult setting but in a quieter, more submissive or ceremonial role.

it had been a cold winters day, the rest of the group mined there business, meanwhile collie stared at dylan from his hut, without breaking eye contact, like a predator marking its prey, his face was calm and you couldn't tell any emotion on it