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12-02-2014, 09:00 PM
Fig
Even beneath the warm weight of a double coat – thick roots blanketing much of her frame, swinging by knees and dragging through snow; long black fur, matted wherever fine twigs or thistles could gather, she could feel the bitter cold of the tundra. It was not like anything she had encountered before. Every breath burned her trachea, her billowing lungs, and she coughed harshly and painfully. Flakes of snow gathered in her thick black lashes making it virtually impossible to find the direction home - the swollen, bleak clouds above now spewed forth a curtain of obscure white. The weather had turned so quickly, even the chilly blue tomb she had been so desperate to escape had vanished. Fig found small relief beneath the wind-harried canopy of her Body Plant, but as it writhed above, her heavy, sodden legs staggered and stumbled through the piling snow to bear its shifting weight. The lost Lignea wondered as she wandered helplessly this way and that, whether this weather had been the actual cause of the couple’s untimely death; surely there were predators well made for this cruel landscape that could have inflicted such wounds... but she thought too of the white down feather she had stashed securely on her body, and remembered that a murderer was indeed running rampant through Helovia. Hours, perhaps even days passed her by, and finally the blizzard eased. Fig had no clue whatsoever where she was standing and glanced with red, glassy eyes across the changed region. The wiry grass which she had travelled between was lost beneath a heavy carpet, and though the high sun peeked golden light between the stubborn pasty streamers above, it offered little aid – she would need to wait still longer for it to sink west. She was grateful at least that it was not the dark hour of night surrounding. Oh great Corocottas she prayed sombrely, good lord Nepenthes. I have lost my way, my bearings. Please light me a path home before some foul befalls me. The leaves rattling overhead as the lingering wind gushed by, were bruised and burned, and Fig felt terribly their pain. Her supple nose was creased with disheartenment, though she knew it would do her no good to dwell and revel in the pity of the situation. |
@[Sekhmet], Any
