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07-10-2016, 12:02 AM
Safe.
As they lingered in the cool, dry, dark, sheets of rain began to plunge before a biting, driving wind; Banjo shivered as he watched, the warmth of the small girl at his side a stark contrast to the side opposite which lay exposed. She was everything to him, both sister and best friend alike, and he would do anything to defend her.
He would’ve done anything to protect her…
Thunder boomed again, but there was something unsettling about it this time, an ominousness that echoed long after the vibration had dulled in the air around them; it was enough to cause the careful back’s breath to catch in his throat. Lightning cracked loudly beyond their cave, close, and green eyes startled shut to guard against the fierce electric-yellow light produced. When they peeled apart once more, he saw the frightening fork recoiling - a tongue, a snake, glistening scales, sly and wicked.
He’d seen the cold, heartless creature before.
“…no, you bastard!”
Panicked, he turned to his sister; she was lying, dead, foam pooling beneath jaws agape. They were back on that mountain trail in the bush and Banjo’s mournful cry rang out through the thin air, just like it had all those many years ago. But there was another voice suddenly, ‘…jeeze!’ And he turned to find the taipan face down, half buried in the red, dry earth - “wait… what?” he blurted, eyes furrowing beneath a thickening cloud of confusion (that wasn’t right?).
The serpent wriggled and lashed, whipping against him ridiculously, and suddenly the sun was hot against his hide; trees were swaying violently…
‘Sorry mister, I didn't - eugh!’
The thing came free and the buck stared down at it before swapping to the corpse of the beloved child - but she was gone! “I don’t…” he began, tortured by the absurdity unfolding, but it all began to dissolve away.
He was resting upright, propped across pointed elbows and above him loomed a stranger, a mare (perhaps?), with about as many spikes on her face as he had fingers; she was rising, backing up, head dithering as her queer golden eyes beamed concern down upon him. The horsaroo’s blocked nose scrunched; his mind strained through perplexity (foggy to begin with), all grip on reality more than lost. “I… I’m f… are you full quid?” What on earth was going on? His own gaze snagged on the mess of markings she wore upon a coat of pure ebony, the strangeness she embodied.
Was he dead?
@Ovidius
Plots | The Unbound | Absences
I run just like this!
Please tag me in openers and spars.
Feel free to flog n magic me, mild power play is also fine.
Text in the profile and posts reflects stereotypical ocker slang - don’t knock it mate!
I run just like this!
Please tag me in openers and spars.
Feel free to flog n magic me, mild power play is also fine.
Text in the profile and posts reflects stereotypical ocker slang - don’t knock it mate!
