Teal
She was bleeding.
It began as a gradual warmth at her breast, easily disregarded in her harried state of determination. She had a destination in mind, but like a golden butterfly on a breezy day, her path was erratic and disorderly. It was always that way for her as she chased after different smells in the air, dragged along by windy games that threw aromas in her face or ripped them away just when she thought she might be making headway.
What she sought was of the most importance. A true life and death situation. And so, locked on to that one thing, she was able to ignore the ache in her muscle each time she walked, the trickle of coppery wetness sliding down her chest. She would find it. She had to.
When the currents of air suddenly stopped sweeping across her clammy skin, she nearly cried out in frustration.
You will show me where it is!
But the winds didn't hear her. No one did with her thoughts locked within her mind. She was deaf to all sounds, and had never known the languages of speech. The only voice she had was primitive, much like her. Grunts and moans she'd never hear signaled her unhappiness. Bright, sudden smiles and throaty laughter were indicative of her joy. Every emotion was laid bare to those around her, expressed so baldly with no concept of society's preference of hiding them from others.
The emotion slowly dominating her face now was hopelessness. Her brows were tightly knit together in concern for herself. Milky eyes stared wide at nothing; seeing nothing as she huffed nervously. With no idea how she would continue, she simply waited with her nose to the air and hoped the drifts would return with the scent she was tracking.
Blind. Deaf.
All she had were these tricky trails of smells that misled her as often as they aided her. Touch, taste... She had not yet worked out how those might help her find her way.
Suddenly, the winds came back in a stormy rush. Her hair whipped around her face, stung her neck with its sharp bite. She screamed a panicked whinny, but had no notion of which direction was safe to run. No direction was safe for her to run, with no way to know where brutal obstacles would appear. And then she could taste something. The Cold. It had just been the Brittle, where crumbling and fragile things dusted beneath her weight like frail bones of trees. And now, in a swift maneuver, the temperature dropped. She retreated a number of steps, hesitant to accept this anomaly. An omen, perhaps.
Her rump backed into a solid object. There had been nothing in the grassy plain she'd just stood. She turned about to inspect it cautiously, and instead of the sweet fragrance of grass, she was now surrounded by the musk of a forest. And stone. Delicate ears tipped forward hopefully. Trees were enemies that often manifested before her, scarring her pretty face over the years as she crashed violently into their rough armor. But stone. Rocks smelled like caves, and caves smelled like water. Caves often had water, even if just a weak trickle.
She pressed her nose to the rock wall. Follow it that way? ...Or that way? Left. or Right. A snaking tingle of fading warmth chose for her, hinting at a shelter from this vicious Cold. Oh, how she hated the Cold.
She followed to the left, tap-tapping her way along blindly. Her right side slid alongside the stone, dusting her coat with debris and fearful that she might lose sight of it if she couldn't feel it against her. Absently, she remembered her wound from earlier. It was now dried and healed, as though weeks of time had passed. No more pain. She brushed it aside easily with an inward shrug. Sometimes things were strange and not at all how she thought they should be. This was simply just another of those times, and all she could do was accept it and push forth.
Finally, she came to a sharp turn in the surface. And, yes! She could taste moisture in the air! It was odd that it felt warmer within this cave rather than cooler as she expected it to be, but with the Cold out there, she wouldn't be questioning this new bit of luck. Accept it, and push forth.
As she continued, something gave her pause. A tickle in the cup of her ear, a prickle against her skin. Was there danger here? Her friend Caveman lived in such places, and his home had been safe enough. She stomped impatiently as she mulled it over, but with the promise of water somewhere within and a sandpaper-dry tongue, she soon returned to her sliding path along the wall. Her determination was firm. She would find it. She had to.
She was a primitive thing. Food, water, sleep. They were the only things she sought after. Survival. She knew no different. How could she? And so, as she slowly buried herself deeper within impenetrable darkness she was blind to, she heard no cries of distress. She saw no other paths to take, unaware she had chosen one. All she had was the vast emptiness on her left, and a solid wall on her right.
Saliva pooled on her tongue in eager anticipation. She would have that water, and damn the wind for trying to misguide her.
It began as a gradual warmth at her breast, easily disregarded in her harried state of determination. She had a destination in mind, but like a golden butterfly on a breezy day, her path was erratic and disorderly. It was always that way for her as she chased after different smells in the air, dragged along by windy games that threw aromas in her face or ripped them away just when she thought she might be making headway.
What she sought was of the most importance. A true life and death situation. And so, locked on to that one thing, she was able to ignore the ache in her muscle each time she walked, the trickle of coppery wetness sliding down her chest. She would find it. She had to.
When the currents of air suddenly stopped sweeping across her clammy skin, she nearly cried out in frustration.
You will show me where it is!
But the winds didn't hear her. No one did with her thoughts locked within her mind. She was deaf to all sounds, and had never known the languages of speech. The only voice she had was primitive, much like her. Grunts and moans she'd never hear signaled her unhappiness. Bright, sudden smiles and throaty laughter were indicative of her joy. Every emotion was laid bare to those around her, expressed so baldly with no concept of society's preference of hiding them from others.
The emotion slowly dominating her face now was hopelessness. Her brows were tightly knit together in concern for herself. Milky eyes stared wide at nothing; seeing nothing as she huffed nervously. With no idea how she would continue, she simply waited with her nose to the air and hoped the drifts would return with the scent she was tracking.
Blind. Deaf.
All she had were these tricky trails of smells that misled her as often as they aided her. Touch, taste... She had not yet worked out how those might help her find her way.
Suddenly, the winds came back in a stormy rush. Her hair whipped around her face, stung her neck with its sharp bite. She screamed a panicked whinny, but had no notion of which direction was safe to run. No direction was safe for her to run, with no way to know where brutal obstacles would appear. And then she could taste something. The Cold. It had just been the Brittle, where crumbling and fragile things dusted beneath her weight like frail bones of trees. And now, in a swift maneuver, the temperature dropped. She retreated a number of steps, hesitant to accept this anomaly. An omen, perhaps.
Her rump backed into a solid object. There had been nothing in the grassy plain she'd just stood. She turned about to inspect it cautiously, and instead of the sweet fragrance of grass, she was now surrounded by the musk of a forest. And stone. Delicate ears tipped forward hopefully. Trees were enemies that often manifested before her, scarring her pretty face over the years as she crashed violently into their rough armor. But stone. Rocks smelled like caves, and caves smelled like water. Caves often had water, even if just a weak trickle.
She pressed her nose to the rock wall. Follow it that way? ...Or that way? Left. or Right. A snaking tingle of fading warmth chose for her, hinting at a shelter from this vicious Cold. Oh, how she hated the Cold.
She followed to the left, tap-tapping her way along blindly. Her right side slid alongside the stone, dusting her coat with debris and fearful that she might lose sight of it if she couldn't feel it against her. Absently, she remembered her wound from earlier. It was now dried and healed, as though weeks of time had passed. No more pain. She brushed it aside easily with an inward shrug. Sometimes things were strange and not at all how she thought they should be. This was simply just another of those times, and all she could do was accept it and push forth.
Finally, she came to a sharp turn in the surface. And, yes! She could taste moisture in the air! It was odd that it felt warmer within this cave rather than cooler as she expected it to be, but with the Cold out there, she wouldn't be questioning this new bit of luck. Accept it, and push forth.
As she continued, something gave her pause. A tickle in the cup of her ear, a prickle against her skin. Was there danger here? Her friend Caveman lived in such places, and his home had been safe enough. She stomped impatiently as she mulled it over, but with the promise of water somewhere within and a sandpaper-dry tongue, she soon returned to her sliding path along the wall. Her determination was firm. She would find it. She had to.
She was a primitive thing. Food, water, sleep. They were the only things she sought after. Survival. She knew no different. How could she? And so, as she slowly buried herself deeper within impenetrable darkness she was blind to, she heard no cries of distress. She saw no other paths to take, unaware she had chosen one. All she had was the vast emptiness on her left, and a solid wall on her right.
Saliva pooled on her tongue in eager anticipation. She would have that water, and damn the wind for trying to misguide her.
(path to the right; choosing trait as possible outcome
)