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Samson was a creature of the forest. He had grown up in the green mountains of West Virginia. He was used to seeing trees stretch on for miles (not kilometers, thanks), and he was at home with the smells associated with the woods. He loved the damp rot of fallen tree limbs, and the perfume of wild grown herbs and sap. He knew every little creature which crept through the brush. Of course, there were some he knew by name - like the pack of dogs which ran along behind him and at his sides. It was a bit of a game really. A chance for himself and his pets to get some exercise. Similar to tag, they all knew how to play, only the objective was not so much to touch the Paladin as to just keep up with him as he vaulted over fallen limbs and squat bushes, across small streams. He stood at 6’8” and was built like a fortress, which tended to give people the impression that he should have moved slowly - like an ox really. This was, to an extent, true. He lacked when it came to technical dexterity, though this was more the fault of large fingers than anything else. He was agile though.

He could hear barking from a distance behind him and knew that a couple of the older dogs were essentially saying they were giving up and heading back home. Home itself was a small cabin far enough past the tree-line that it was difficult to find unless you knew what you were looking for - this was not helped by the natural look of it - with sod and grass piled onto the watertight roof to act as camouflage if viewed from above. He was totally off-grid. He got his water from a well, and he took advantage of both solar panels and a briskly moving creek (as well as a generator when necessary) to supply his place with power. Of course. He wasn’t all that fond of electricity for the most part, so his needs in that area tended to be small - just enough to keep his phone (which he kept losing) charged, and for the one fan he allowed to move the air around in his cave of maleness (one of the few luxuries he had become accustomed to). Otherwise, the cabin was exactly what one might have imagined. Wood walls, wood floors. There was a massive fireplace with a Samson sized seat in front of it. He used it to heat his home during winter, and cook sometimes. There was a wood stove, a bathroom, and a bedroom - and that was basically it. Also a number of hunting trophies and several several guns and other weapons scattered all around. It was all autumn colors and earth tones.

A proper place for a man to live, as far as he was concerned.

He was about an hour into his run, which meant that it would soon be time to turn back around. It was a sad reality. Used to be a man could keep in shape just from gathering a bit of sweat on his brow and swinging an axe a number of times to chop wood. Maybe it was his age showing, or perhaps that he had grown addicted to fast food since he’d taken up patrolling the streets of Harper Rock at night to put down the zombie menace. It was just convenient. But convenient did not mean that he could grow lazy. Which was why he moved at top speed. He had a pair of axes, one in either hand, gripped just beneath the metal head. They served two purposes. First, they acted as excellent jogging weights. Second, if any monster happened upon him, he was ready. Otherwise he was clad merely in shorts (which had been a gift), and boots. Originally, he had been opposed to the shorts, because what man needed to show off his legs like that? Of course, they were convenient for exercise, so he had eventually relented...but his boots were part of him. He wouldn’t trade them out for sneakers no matter what anyone said. And that was the final word on the matter.

He called out behind him for the dogs to keep up, and that was when he stumbled into a clearing he’d been in a number of times. It was the halfway point, where he would turn back. Except it was not empty. And he didn’t so much sneak upon the location as run into it like a rampaging bear with its claws out (or axes in this case). Only to come to a dead stop. There was a waif of a tiny woman sitting there. What on earth was she doing? ”You lost?” He asked. He wasn’t intentionally rude. Samson was just a man of few words, so sometimes he forgot things like nicenties and introductions and such.

His breath came out steady, matching the rhythm of his running in a way that seemed to fuel his movements. An inhale as he ducked under low hanging branches, a hitch when he jumped over a fallen log. There was a fluidity to his movements brought on by years of practice combined with a natural ability that few would suspect of the often well-dress entrepreneur. Lincoln King presented himself to the world as a level-headed, charming executive type, not interested in wasting time and always ready to close the deal. Few would suspect his hidden nature, the power that he harnessed at his very core, the power that spoke to the natural world and made him crave it when the modern world got to be too much. His spare time was often spent running, finding new expanses of the city to explore, and when time allowed, delving deep into the forests that surrounded it. There were so many places he could go where few others would tread, hidden places you had to wade through thick tangles of lush greenery to reach and where the very earth seemed to speak to him.

Very occasionally he wondered if it was all just something manufactured by his fragile, fractured mind. Did he really get taught how to commune with the earth, how to harness its power as his own? A million times over he'd decided he'd ask his father, as he didn't recall any conversations on the matter since he was a very young boy and they'd gone on their camping trips. Every time he went to open his mouth and ask him the words would die in his throat that suddenly felt dry as the desert, strangling all sound so he sat there looking like a fool. Even having met others who had heard of people like him, or other humans with skills that didn't seem entirely natural hadn't completely soothed his worries. Lincoln carried on his practices in secret, surrounding himself in plant life and living things often as he possibly could, even his apartment being a testament to his tendencies with the natural stone shower and lush green wall displays. His rooftop was a green oasis in a sea of grey and grime, carefully cultivated to be a place he could go to feel at peace and quiet his frantic mind.

Here in the woods he felt more like himself, the voices that whispered in his mind, the personalities that warred for dominance quieted as he strode forward, feeling stronger with each step, lunge and sprint that took him deeper. Unlike the other two he'd circled around, going further out and was on his way back in when he came upon the edge of the clearing, expecting to find himself alone in a space where he could sit and have a quick drink, a bite to eat from the pack he'd packed before making the trip back. He always felt lighter until the last hundred metres, when suddenly the weight of the world he was returning to began to fall on his shoulders. This was his time for reflection, for stillness and silence before he had to go back to that. As he closed in on the clearing he heard a man's voice. Out here? Anxiously he slid a hand up through his damp hair, darkened by the droplets combed through it by branches and leaves brushing the top of his head as he ran; hard to avoid with his height. Did he turn away? Step lightly as a frightened fawn and find somewhere else to rest? What if they really were lost, were in need of assistance? "****." He sighed, the word barely above a whisper as he steeled himself.

Linc stepped out from behind a tree, coming around the opposote side to see a man standing there at the other edge of the clearing, looking at a woman who seemed in deep concentration, her hands on the earth. He was holding axes, and she... Lincoln took a steadying breath, focusing, feeling a swell of energy in the pit of his stomach, in his chest as if the very earth were calling to him. He wanted to echo her posture, to slide down and bury his fingers in the dirt, to ask it to guide him to favoured plants. Lincoln resisted, folding his arms across his chest, fingers folding into fists where they sat against his ribcage. "Are you?" His tone didn't sound angry, perhaps uncertain, an edge of genuine confusion lacing his words. His green eyes slipped to the axes, then to the woman. He had a dagger tucked into the pack that sat on his shoulder, he could have easily grabbed it, ducked behind the tree for cover if the man decided to send one of those axes flying but he resisted. Waited.