Fig

It had easily been a month since the last trip she had made to Sky Island; the first place that she had come face to face with horrid foul play, the utterly gruesome face of death. The cloud-lift as she had so fondly learned to call it, was another feature that had both intimidated and poured hesitation through her mind – certainly not something that filled her with glory or gave the impression of liberty. Fig felt most comfortable with four hooves set soundly upon the sturdy crust of the earth.

The journey into the south, through dense forest and across rivers wild had been yet again long and tedious, though the dim outline of floating land had provided swell encouragement, a destination growing ever neared. She had not left the homeland she had grown so attached to in many weeks, months even perhaps, the thrill of exploring and learning about the culture spread through Helovia paled beneath the ominous threat of murder, and the young, humble-hearted Lignea had lost pleasure in the vast wonderland outside the Edge.

Fig dithered, just like every other time, before stepping near enough to summon the cloudy bridge. She drew a long hard breath and readied her most unprepared mind for the boggling feat to come. Ok, she breathed gently into the warm southern wind...Go, now! And after one last hesitation, the awkward tree-girl surged forward until the powdery-white plumes began to build about her heavily feathered hooves.

Without any reservation, and apparently oblivious to the mass of flesh and bough trembling over head, the clouds carried her. Moments later they had dissolved altogether again, and Fig was perched atop the island, gazing down across the flurry of activity which seemed to be an ever present feature of the island’s village. She set off boldly down the lush green slope, with the tent replica of her home in mind.

But alas, the Lignea was distracted from her journey by a group not far aside from the village; tucked curiously from sight, but with enough traffic to draw her interest. She approached cautiously, all too aware of the grim scene she might uncover after the last. It was true; her wariness was rewarded handsomely by the discovery of yet another horrid corpse. It was a dark horse like herself, no doubt brilliant in her time, but now she lay broken and sickeningly dead upon the earth.

A horned stallion stood guard over her, so Fig dared not venture to near. She was humbled by the creature, and paid both only a respectful glance – she did however notice, as her soft green eyes touched briefly the fallen, that strange scales or reptile skin lay here and there about her. It made little sense and she had not the heart or stomach to linger for any great length of time. Unnatural death was something she just could not stomach... and so she turned with a heavy heart, to continue along her way towards the village.

---

Four Strangers
@[Parelia]
@[Kirah]
@[Ira]
& Fig