She has found something dead. |
@Kid
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5 |
Colt :: Equine :: 15hh :: 3 years HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE |
dark |
I plowed through the meadow, content with my temporary isolation as I made my way through the open expanse of plain, bounding with the youth and freedom Mother tried so hard to beat out of me. I shrugged away my doubts, my questions and curiosity as I thundered through the frost layered fields, a monochromatic blur of power and arrogance. I almost wanted to laugh, to forget more than just Mother's stern sight, but the dangerous reality she described, the underlying truth in the things that she preached to me every chance she got.
Ew.
What the fuck was that?
I stopped so abruptly, I teetered dangerously close to falling flat on my ass (that would've been great for my ego). The smell (so icky) hit me the way a tree would if you ran at it full speed, it was absolutely disgusting and intolerable— it was almost as disgusting as the thing that was wallowing around the source. I step closer, neck straining to see what the foal was doing. Bubblegum pink eyes settle on the most Disgusting (with a capital D) this I have ever seen. "What—the—fuck." I spit out, using the word Mother often blared at me in her blind rage. I couldn't be bothered to censor myself, not with that before me.
A midnight black filly stood before the grotesquely tattered remains of a young fawn, its scattered insides spilling from its gaping gut and laying at the hooves of the girl. I hesitate on stepped forward, not wanting to get dissected by this psycho baby with an interest in blood, guts and the grotesque. "That's nasty." Whether I was referring to the vulnerable entrails, the chick so eagerly consuming them, or the bloody horns protruding from the girl's face, I don't know. Perhaps all three?
I noticed her horns as I shuffled closer, eyeing her smaller dark body with a look of pure revulsion at the sight of her nearly hairless tail and newly grown obsidian blades. She was almost as putrid a sight as the carcass, my lip curling with discontent at the scene that lay before me. As a king, this was unacceptable. I would not have even the peasants frisking through dead animals remains— that was unhygienic. And I— with my well kept hair and pristine invariant coat— am the perfect example of good hygiene. I don't reek of death and stomach bile like this child does (nor do I look like I'd just committed mass murder), if I did I don't think I'd be making a public appearance just yet. A king always has to look his best.
"That's so gross." I inform her (just in case she didn't know), looking down at the mess with distaste. I wanted to add 'you're gross' but I'd give her a chance to prove she wasn't like the other horned mongrels I'd come across— that she could hold her tongue and not question my authority or the reasoning behind my words. I eyed every single exposed organ, the unmoving mass of flesh that made up the insides of the fawn (and possibly me), covered in dirt and grass at the onyx hooves of the younger foal.
"Talk."
@Oizys ~
Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 7.0 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5 |
Mare :: Hybrid :: 17hh :: 2 HP: 73.5 | Buff: NOVICE |
Ker :: Philippine Eagle :: Curse Snow |
What the fuck? |
@Kid
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5 |
Colt :: Equine :: 15hh :: 3 years HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE |
dark |
She didn't like that I told her this was nasty, furrowing her brows at me in discontent. Even the little chick turned its attention from its grotesque meal to squeal at me in the most unpleasant manner, its blood splotched beak making my stomach lurch. My eyes dart to the movement around her ankles, her leonine tail snaking around them in agitation? Boredom? Did the thing just do what it pleased? I really don't understand how they work, bit it's there, hairless
"I don't have any— and I'm glad I don't. They're signs of inferiority." I inform her, thinking that maybe her parents just haven't told her that she's supposed to be below me, that maybe they were waiting until she could comprehend more than simple sentences. My throat catches before I can talk anymore, watching as the filly purposefully angles her head so I can see the deep scars running over the right side of her face. They're still healing, not quite scarred, but not new either. My face wants to react, to twist in displeasure at seeing this and knowing that any day that could happen to me if Mother ever felt up to it— that although these are from the claws of a wild animal, what's to stop Mother from doing the same? What if one day, she becomes the wild animal, and I the helpless prey to fall beneath her raging talons. "Oh." Is my only response to her wounds, having nothing of that caliber to show her. Scattered swelling bruises and light scars blanket my body, but none so severe as hers.
I raise an unimpressed brow at her retort, almost chuckling at the failed response to my words. "Was that supposed to make me feel bad?" I ask her, looking down at the battered filly and then onto the rotting corpse laid out before us. I would give her a better come back than that. "I'm sure your mom smells just like this—" I respond bluntly, raising a cream hoof to the exposed innards with a wrinkled nose. It indeed did smell bad, like a hot shit left to sit out in the summer sun for far too long. Unpleasant.
Sure, those things may be inside of me, and her, and that tiny chick picking at them— but that's just the difference. They were inside of us, where they belonged. That's what made the open body gross, and (at least) me, not. "It's because those organs are all out of the body where everything can get to them and they can get smelly and gross. In us they're fine because that's where they belong." I shrug nonchalantly, gazing at the face of the deceased fawn, wondering what it saw before it died. Death was something I wasn't fond of, something I didn't find interest in, but I didn't fear it either. It just was— there was nothing fascinating about it, nothing terrifyingly dreadful either. I accepted my morality and went on, but this girl seemed very keen on knowing the physical half of death, about what the body becomes afterwards.
"Talk."
@Oizys
Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 7.0 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5 |
Mare :: Hybrid :: 17hh :: 2 HP: 73.5 | Buff: NOVICE |
Ker :: Philippine Eagle :: Curse Snow |
He's looking at her tail, and she notices that he has the boring normal-horse-tail of her mother. Quite useless, lacking the dexterity and beautiful flicky-ness of the gargoyle's own leonine limb, and she happily resumes the snakelike thrashing of it across the soil. He is different to anything she's seen before - she wishes Enyo were here, to examine him with her. That naked, skull-marked face, that bone-printed leg, that weird dull tail! |
@Kid
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5 |
Colt :: Equine :: 15hh :: 3 years HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE |
dark |
Perhaps her parents had taught her that she was supposed to respect me like this, to bow before someone who was of a higher power— who was beyond her scale of ranking, who traversed such a dismal order and went beyond it. We were on entirely separate levels, she was so far behind me that I need not worry of her ever taking my position
And as soon as I had begun to enjoy the idea of her accepting my dominance, my excellence, my prestigious equine heritage that brought me to the lead before she even had a chance to line up. Yet she tells me very blatantly that she is in fact not inferior to me, and that makes me want to laugh in her face for even trying to step off the path that she was set to run before she was born— when she took from her parents their horns, and grew from her brow her sign of weakness. It was then she was set on this course, ushered to drag along her heels while those without extra appendages and horns freely strode along at whatever pace they pleased. This is our game after all, where we set the pace— and they have no choice but to follow at a rate that will never get them any closer to winning.
"I don't believe that you fought off your attacker— you probably had your mommy fight it off." I almost added mockingly, 'she probably only did it because she didn't want a child's blood on her hands.' But that was unspeakably cruel, and as much as I would like to crush her where she stands, I couldn't bring myself to play such a foul joke. So my lips remained sealed.
Children would only cry, after all— not protest or demand forgiveness. They would not pose a challenge or a threat— they would weep simply because their idol, their own mother had been insulted.
I would not weep, not even a twinge of defensive need arose when she attempted an insult at Mother. Despite my conditioned love for the woman whose womb I originated in, I could not love her more— I could not defend her honour when it is hers to defend. It is not my place— even as the son— to do what she is supposed to. So I simply stand, watching the sooty features of the child turn into pitiful rage, an anger simply because I poked fun at her mother. This amused me, watching her face sour at my remark. "Why do you defend your mother like this?" I ask her, looking down upon the rage red mask with utmost pride, that my words sparked such an amusing reaction from a babe who was even younger than the body by her side.
"Well then I would be dead." I tell her matter-of-factly, looking upon her with a raised brow. And if that didn't kill me, the pain of having my essential organs torn from the cavity in which they belong certainly would. Her insult sails over my head (if it could even be called such), completely ignored because it was so impossibly weak, even a newborn (isn't that what she is?) could create a better come back than that. "Yes, and so would you." I confirm, knowing full well that it's true. If either died, we would rot and become just that— smelly, gross carcasses for scavengers to tear apart when their stomachs rumble and their eyes sharpen with a trivial need to survive. That is a fate I could accept, so long as my body is shielded from curious children (like this one), who might have their companions engorge on my entrails, or poke fun at my decomposing tissue with gruesome glee in their beady eyes (almost like vultures).
"Talk."
@Oizys
Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 7.0 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5 |
Mare :: Hybrid :: 17hh :: 2 HP: 73.5 | Buff: NOVICE |
Ker :: Philippine Eagle :: Curse Snow |
The gargoyle has not experienced many emotions during her life. |
@Kid
[ the gargoyle queen ]
OIZYS IS ALWAYS RATED M FOR STRONG LANGAUGE IN HER POSTS
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5 |
Colt :: Equine :: 15hh :: 3 years HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE |
dark |
I look her over at her next question, eyes settling on her sickly little nubs that signify her inequality to me, that mark her as no more than the dirt beneath my hooves or flies buzzing about my head. And she had the audacity to question my loyalties to Mother, to demand to know why I did not defend her the way she did her own— I want to laugh at her for thinking she deserved to know my personal affairs. It was my business to keep, my secrets and thoughts to hold dearest— nothing that could be shared with someone so pointless (no pun intended). "Why would I tell you?" I stare her down, lip twitching with displeasure for her poking and prodding. She doesn't deserve to know anything about me, and if she thinks she does, she is very wrong.
Shit does not get recognition or compensation.
Shit shouldn't even talk (why am I even bothering with her?) I watch her carefully, stepping closer and arching her neck like she has a thing to prove, like that will intimidate me. She's very wrong (it seems to be a trend with her), because all I can do is seal my lips from letting free a mocking laugh. How stupid can she get?
Even the baby bird is trying to look frightening, but much like it's bonded it fails. If I so wanted, I could probably smash it under my hoof and watch the girl's face sour as she loses something she never should've gotten in the first place. But the chick is safe, perched on her withers after a struggle of clawing and climbing over thick grey skin. Its crimson battered fuzz makes it no more threatening, my own blood spattered chest puffing out as a challenge.
Her next sentence strikes a cord, stomach clenching as the venom drips from her young lips. My lungs burn as I inhale for a moment, taking in the fumes of her insult and wanting scream at her. How dare she! I make no motion that I was affected by her words other than the flick back of an ear— a sign of annoyance more than of hurt. Because she was right, her wild guess was correct. But I wouldn't admit to it, wouldn't tell her that Mother didn't want a god-sent child who was so small and weak. I grit my teeth, looking at her with slightly narrowed brows. "Look who's talking, I bet your mother didn't even want to save you. What if she wanted you dead?" Burn bitch.
"Talk."
@Oizys
Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 7.0 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5 |
Mare :: Hybrid :: 17hh :: 2 HP: 73.5 | Buff: NOVICE |
Ker :: Philippine Eagle :: Curse Snow |
Babies shouldn't swear. "You did," she points out, an unpleasant tinge to her voice. She feels terribly...strange. Her flesh is tight across her muscles, like it's suddenly become too small for her, and every part of her body aches. She doesn't yet understand that this is what anger feels like. She doesn't yet comprehend that the tightness of her muscles is the small, sane part of her mind holding the rest of her body back from attacking him; it, unlike the rest of her, knows she is no match for him. It and it alone is keeping her from a thorough beating. |
@Kid
[ the gargoyle queen ]
OIZYS IS ALWAYS RATED M FOR STRONG LANGAUGE IN HER POSTS
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5 |
Colt :: Equine :: 15hh :: 3 years HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE |
dark |
And I see how quickly she angers, how her temper flares and her muscles tighten and tremble. She is a meek sight, a laughable sight— she is pathetic and smaller than I (better enjoy it while it lasts, I won't be the tallest for long), and I can't help but look her over with disregard over her foolish fury. Even her chick is enraged, flailing its disgusting little wings at me like that will do anything to deter my opinion about the idiocy of the two before me.
Somewhere I'm hoping that she'll try and attack me with her needle sized horns, slashing and jabbing with a recklessness only a fool could manage (to which she was). So I arrogantly look upon her with disapproval at her language, shaking my head like it was my right to tell her what she could and could not say (for it was, as the hair to a grand empire). "Well then why did you ask?" If she had not been searching for an answer, for an upper hand— then she would have let the subject be. But with a mind where little thought influenced her words and actions, the question came and from it no response. I simply drew back an ear and shifted my gaze to the water colour world beyond her petite monochrome figure, finding the smudged lines and indiscernible features of nature to be far more aesthetically appealing to look at than the appalling child at my hooves.
"It's a shame he didn't off you— the world would celebrate having one less of your kind." But it was most likely that her father was just like her, that the diseased blood of a mongrel crept through their veins and grew hosts in the wombs of idiots. I wanted to spit back, 'at least he knows you're alive.' Because Volterra has never before laid eyes upon me, he's probably never even heard my name before. I bet he doesn't even know I (or Sabre) exist. A plus parenting right from the get go (it seems to be a trend with my parents).
I didn't have a reaction to give for the flatness of the tone the filly spoke with, her midnight face and etched wounds focused solely on me, haunting me for I knew well that my future looked like that— that Mother would one day be unable to hold back and I will suffer for her mistakes. There will be no anguish or despair for her crimes either, just bitterness and ignorance, a stubborn personality that would seal her lips from ever speaking of her foul temper. So I will stand and wait for that day, in constant uncertainty if that day be today or tomorrow— if I will live to see the Tallsun months and become the Emperor Mother dreams of.
I give no acknowledgement of her words, ignoring completely the insults and accusations (of being ugly) and just laughing, blatantly letting loose a tremor of giggles that erupted from her pitiful attempt at low hit to my feelings. "I'm the prettiest thing those eyes of yours will ever see," I tell her matter-of-factly. Perhaps in part I believed it true, that my macabre mask and brindled limbs would be the prettiest scene those stormy eyes of hers would ever witness.
"And my mother—unlike yours— doesn't rely on anyone else to do things for her. If she wanted me dead, I would be. She isn't a lazy idiot like your mother, or a failure like your father." I don't even address Volterra, tail swiping against my thighs to accentuate the end of my sentence, a high and mighty look befalling my face as I wait and watch the girl's spattered features, awaiting the tears that I so eagerly hoped to receive for my dedication and willingness to bring ruin to her insignificant existence. I was probably going to be the most important
"Talk."
@Oizys
Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 7.0 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5 |
Mare :: Hybrid :: 17hh :: 2 HP: 73.5 | Buff: NOVICE |
Ker :: Philippine Eagle :: Curse Snow |
I'm not a baby, he protests, and she lifts a sardonic brow. "I beg to differ." Big words for such a little girl. Ker ceases her flailing and instead politely and hopefully asks Oizys if she can peck the boy's eyes out. No, is the gargoyle's blunt reply, so forcefully it almost knocks the chick off her back, to which the eaglet drops a thousand ":( :(" into her mind. Oizys isn't quite sure why she rejects the very appealing idea - probably because Ker's inability to fly would make eye-pecking rather difficult. Maybe when she's older... |
@Kid
[ the gargoyle queen ]
OIZYS IS ALWAYS RATED M FOR STRONG LANGAUGE IN HER POSTS
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5 |
Colt :: Equine :: 15hh :: 3 years HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE |
dark |
"It's called a rhetorical question." I tell her plainly, knowing her lack of vocabulary originated from how young she was— not from how simple minded or
The little mongrel throws down a foot, ears flat and face twisted. Easy to anger, I make this note subtly. If I'm ever to run into her again, I will remember how easily upset she becomes, and with this knowledge I will pull her down. One less bitch in this world. So I sit back, witness her thrown her tantrum and smile at how wonderful it is to upset a child (like stealing candy from a really angry toddler), especially one who can't do anything. It was a warm up, the beginning of something far beyond just her, soon I'd move up to bigger, smarter opponents— ones who actually posed a challenge rather than a target.
A coy smile graces onyx lips, smugly looking down upon the little girl before me.
"What gave it away?" Sarcasm was my weapon in this conversation, wielded recklessly with my mocking glare settled on the ashen face of the child. Our banter was a childish matter, it was falling from our tongues in rapid succession— had we been older there would be no words exchanged but hooves and blunt teeth, threats of destruction and ruin. Perhaps it's better we meet now, when our bones are still developing and our bodies are not physically capable of carrying out physical blows just yet.
The hollowness in her voice makes me question what thoughts are churning in that head of hers, whether she was mentally sound or her father's beating rattled up her brain a little too much. It's unsettling, the dullness in her eyes that swallows her up almost instantaneously (is this her way of getting back at me?) "Well aren't you a ball of sunshine." I comment, assessing the expression worn on her face with observant bubblegum eyes. Her distance wouldn't frustrate me, it was a challenge now— a challenge I'd been waiting for.
"Talk."
Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 7.0 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5 |
Mare :: Hybrid :: 17hh :: 2 HP: 73.5 | Buff: NOVICE |
Ker :: Philippine Eagle :: Curse Snow |
She does not dignify his earlier words with a response - you're a baby, no you're a baby isn't going to get them very far, and Oizys isn't quite puerile enough to demand the last word. Not that it bothers her, but she is genuinely baffled why he seems to loathe her so much. Is it because she is a girl, and he is male like Father? No, not like Father; he is a quivering, snivelling brat before her sire's savage beauty, his palpable, stone-hard rage, his harpies... |
@Kid
[ the gargoyle queen ]
OIZYS IS ALWAYS RATED M FOR STRONG LANGAUGE IN HER POSTS
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5 |
Colt :: Equine :: 15hh :: 3 years HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE |
dark |
I shrug my shoulders, looking down at her with a blank look worn over my skeletal features (I don't need her pestering me about my expressions when the pressures of this question weigh down my body). I don't know, I don't know why I hate her (I really don't)— why her horns offend me so much and force my stomach into knots and make my tongue swell with bitter distaste. Why the idea of her kind roaming so freely makes me furious, makes me outraged and hurt that such a thing was possible— but at the same time all these feelings felt— false. Like they weren't coming from me, but an outside force (Mother) that firmly crammed them all into my head in a flurry of aggressive motions, stuffing soured ideas and opinions into me. As though someone
"I don't know." I answer simply, shrugging again to emphasize that truly, I had no idea. Mother has raised Sabre and I to cast long glances down upon the inferior races, towards the flighty cowards and horned fools who dare to deem themselves kings and queens with their false crowns (they may believe they are natural born rulers, but they are idiots). And there is no doubt that I do feel something towards them, but these indiscernible feelings of my own hate and Mother's fog up my head, making it increasingly harder to decide whether this deep rooted hatred was my own or hatred built up over generations, passed onto me through each connection of hoof to flesh from mother to son.
So I leave it alone (as alone as I can when a curious child stands before me), hoping that the pitch black babe will drop the topic as quick as she'd picked it up— I had no intentions of catering to her every question. I wouldn't elaborate on my answer either, having no interest in telling her any more than I thought necessary. If she continued to seek out answers, she would find only a snide remark to be shot back at her (as is my specialty)— and I could simply walk away if even then she persisted. I would leave her mid-sentence, her curiosity still itching its way through her gut, clawing and pleading to be satisfied with the release of a barrage of questions that littered her puny head.
"Talk."
@Oizys
Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 7.0 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5 |
Mare :: Hybrid :: 17hh :: 2 HP: 73.5 | Buff: NOVICE |
Ker :: Philippine Eagle :: Curse Snow |
He shrugs, and the bitch's eyes narrow at him. He must know why he hates her. She knows why she hates him (although hate is a strong word, and the gargoyle isn't fully sure that's what she feels - is he worthy of kindling such an emotion in her?). It is because he has insulted her, made her feel stupid beneath his older, maturer glare, because he ignites something murderous inside her. |
@Kid
[ the gargoyle queen ]
OIZYS IS ALWAYS RATED M FOR STRONG LANGAUGE IN HER POSTS
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5 |
Colt :: Equine :: 15hh :: 3 years HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE |
dark |
Suppose that I don't hate her— or any unicorns or pegasi or what-have-you— that I've just been keeping up this mindset to appeal to Mother, and in truth I'm curious about the mechanics of wings and the growth patterns of horns. I maintain this appearance of racism to appease a dam who beats me, who hates me. Why should I continue to keep this up when she already doesn't approve of me (what more damage can be done?)?
So I shrug my shoulders at her, looking at her thin little horns— just beginning to grow— and give her the best possible explanation because at this point, I'm growing careless and I need to tell someone about this new discovery (and aunt Nym isn't here so this girl's the runner up). I'll just keep it short and simple, not give too much away, but enough to (hopefully) satisfy her. "I guess it's because Mother wants me to."
I almost burst into laughter at the prospect of Mother having anything non-equine— it would never happen. "Mother wouldn't even think of going for anything but an equine," I answer her firmly, sticking to the idea that Mother would be absolutely repulsed by thinking of doing anything with a stallion that wasn't an equine. Her hatred was far too real and deep rooted for it to happen, beaten into her as harshly as my
And there's also the thought of Sabre thinking the other species are disgusting, sickly and unwell with their tainted blood. Is she truly against all but the equines, or is it just a facade to entertain Mother? This possibility that she genuinely hates others makes my stomach turn, shoulders tensing at the idea that I'll be rejected by my counterpart as well, a disowned piece of the family.
"Talk."
@Oizys
Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 7.0 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5 |
Mare :: Hybrid :: 17hh :: 2 HP: 73.5 | Buff: NOVICE |
Ker :: Philippine Eagle :: Curse Snow |
Because Mother wants me to. For a moment, she thinks this a statement worthy of mockery - a gleeful smile begins to spread across her jaws, sensing a chance to fire more insults at him, to mercilessly tease him for being mummy's little minion. But something makes her hesitate. She thinks of Father, his harpies, his power. He is the only thing Oizys fears, and she knows that if he told her to hate someone, she would do so, without question. If he told her to hate an entire species, she would - because he knows best. |
@Kid OZZY FEELS FEELS SHE DON'T WANNA FEEL. feel free to have him stop her if you wanna continue <3
[ the gargoyle queen ]
OIZYS IS ALWAYS RATED M FOR STRONG LANGAUGE IN HER POSTS
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5 |
Colt :: Equine :: 15hh :: 3 years HP: 63 | Buff: NOVICE |
dark |
What hits me is her words— "I understand." It's spoken without the venom that had coated her previous sentences, taking me aback. My eyes flutter momentarily (you could miss it if you weren't paying close attention), growing subtly as they settle upon the blue-grey ones of the unicorn. Oh. It feels like a powerful punch to the gut, to come face to face with someone who suffers the same fate I do— my eyes lower to the earth beneath her rather than her herself, fearing what I'd see hidden behind her intense gaze.
My stomach knots as I remember her recalling her father's feelings, how he wanted her dead. My ear flicks back, bubblegum settling on the healing scars crawling over her face— my own scars burn with sympathy, a strain in my muscles as I clench them and tremble ever so slightly in remembrance of the intensity of pain they brought. With each strike my skin split and bruises blossomed, racing down my sides over the span of an hour as Mother's relentless discipline continued. I want to apologize to her, to sympathize with her for her suffering (we are one in the same)— but I hold my tongue and let it pass, not in the mood for some bullshit heart to heart with a stranger.
"I'm gonna go."
My thoughts are drawn back when she speaks again, looking at the sooty child as her words frantically stumble from her lips— not hesitating to take up the feasting chick (who screams while hanging between her lips) and turn tail. I do not protest her making her leave, (for once in my life) do not speak as she turns away from me— leaving me to awkwardly stand alone among brittle and lifeless plants. She takes no time in getting away from me, eyes hovering over the deer's discarded carcass as her hoof steps get farther and farther away until there's none at all. Even after she's gone (at least I think, maybe she's still out there but she's so small she's dissipated into the blurry background) I stand my ground, looking up from the ground to where she had been standing minutes ago, wishing her well in handling her parents (yes, the ones that I insulted). I turn my back now, leaving behind the rotting deer and its foul scents, dragging behind me the
"Talk."