Elizabeth's fury was palpable. The taste of it was a bitter tang on the jackal's tongue, an irrevocable presence in her shadowed mind, a poison flowing through her veins. It was her strength, and it was her passion. Their fury mixed in the air between them, mingling in the merging winds drifting between them, carried back and forth as though in waves, crashing into and out of and around and within. It was intoxicating. It was dangerous. It was everything they needed to escape. Everything except a plan. And in this, their fury was also their kryptonite; should they follow the passion pumped from their hearts rather than the logic flowing from their minds, they would find themselves failures, trapped interminably within the gods-forsaken desert.

How strange it was to adjust to this odd climate. The barren wasteland of the Steppe had been a blessing in comparison. Beneath the snow, there had been solid ground, and one became used to the cold after a while. If nothing else, it inspired bonding between herd members as they huddled for warmth, worked together to find food. There was water everywhere; one simply had to scoop up a mouthful of snow and then, lo and behold, parched throat was quenched. But here, here, there was nothing. No solid ground, simply sand that shifted constantly under their hooves, churning and throwing one so unused to it off balance. Here, there was no water, save the tainted liquid from which the impure drank. This, truly, was hell.

"I will sit back long enough to learn their secrets." There, there was the logic which they needed so desperately. Perhaps if they were simply silent, and untroublesome, the Throat would drop its guard and they could be on their way. But then it wasn't in their nature to be silent, now, was it? Oh no, they would favor sarcasm and flaring outbursts over silence and quiet deference. Such was their characters. Perhaps alone, separated, the shadow-mare could overcome her brash tendencies, as she had done upon her arrival; but with another so similar to her own persona, such a task would prove impossible. And so it remained: how were they to escape? A memory flared, briefly, and then was tucked away again. It was an idea, but she would discuss it later, perhaps during the night, when there were no listening ears or prying eyes.

"So we will, darling," she crooned with a voice full of the venom that had always been present, but oddly comforting in the lonely landscape. "We will not fall. We will rise. And when we do, we will crush them all."

[W/C | 439]

Walk walk walk.
"Talk talk talk."
Think think think.