I think you are wearing part of my cothtume...
The words barely leave her lips when something happens to the girl in front of her. The change is so startling that Beechbone does not even notice that she has changed, too. At a year old, she is used to the clicking and popping and the unexplained pain of growing. She snuffles softly, staringly at the stranger who has suddenly turned into an absolutely enormous mouse, and whose ears are definitely not part of her own costume.
"Oh, my mistake, I'm sorry. Those are obviously your ears. And they're lovely round ears, they don't look costume-y at all." Her long whiskers tremble with the thought that she might have insulted the large mouse and she bunches her hand-paws nervously together, pressing them anxiously against the curve of her jaw. It's only when she does this that she feels how long and narrow it has become, how filled with needle-sharp teeth, and Beechbone, so used to being too large and too strong, finds herself to be another kind of monster, something that kills to eat, with a strange patchy coat and creepy clawy fingers and a long tail that curls like a snake around her. She grabs it up and hugs it close to her body then, on an impulse, she shoves it into the skin-pouch on her belly to hide it.
FLEE!
She turns, hissing, and trots away into the night, but she doesn't get far. It's just too awkward to run with her tail stuffed into her belly so the yearling soon stops and pulls it out again. In the distance she can hear the witches laughing and somewhere, there's a parrot screaming, but in the woods where she has stopped it is deathly silent, not even the dry leaves rustle on the ends of their bran--
Ooh, a piece of candy. Brightly wrapped in red cellophane, it shines mutely in the autumn starlight and she snatches it up as she did her tail before and shoves it into the recently vacated pouch. Nice. Being an opossum isn't that bad. An opossum? Is it an opossum or a opossum? The girl ponders the grammar of her new body idly, plucking more fallen candy from the ground. Where on earth did this all come-- Oh my god a full-size Snickers. It's fallen into the river, caught up on a couple of rocks forcing Beechbone to scurry across the gravelly banks to gain her prize. She looks across the river but it's deep and fast here and she does not feel confident in this body's ability to swim, but Jack had said they must cross the river and he seemed like he knew what he was talking about. The opossum shoves the snickers into her pouch (and also a pretty, smooth agate stone,) while her gaze runs up and down the wild banks. So much of the world dissolves into dimness, her vision is so poor, but not far upstream she sees lights and movement and so she heads for those signs of life. Perhaps someone there will help her?
As the lights come into focus, she can see better what is happening. Torches cast their yellow light fitfully, belching tarry smoke into the air and a slew of the undead are crossing back and forth, slowly. On the opposite bank, a half-built pyramid is taking shape. On the near bank, muffled shouting coming from a larger group of them at the top of a pyre, screaming that turns bloody and dies back to a soft whine when one of the zombies lifts something small and wet and lays it in a box. This happens again and again and when they are finished there is not even any groaning anymore, and the wrapping begins. Beechbone frowns and hugs at the candy in her pouch possessively. They are not getting it back, that's for sure, but she does need to get across and their bridge is so convenient.
How perfect is it that she is an opossum right now and can play dead? The large opossum stands up on its back legs and begins walking stiffly towards the bridge, its forelegs outflung. When it reaches the crossing the undead army begins to swarm around her, ready to grab up the intruder. Their Pharoah requires more mummified servants and mounts and women and food and... opossums? Why not? But Beechbone parts her wide, terrifying mouth, and with a dying groan that would do any normal-sized opossum proud, she begins chanting.
"Imhotep," the undead around her shift, unsure. She says it again, "Imhotep."
"Imhotep," one replies.
"Imhotep," Beechbone says again and is answered by a legion of voices.
"Imhotep. Imhotep. Imhotep. Imhotep." They cross the bridge slowly, chanting the name the whole way across, and when they've reached the other side, Beechbone slows until she's at the very back of the crowd, backing around the corner of the pyramid, her Imhoteps becoming a mere whisper and then nothing at all. When the crowd has passed, she darts back into the shadows, pausing between a pair of old elm trees to crunch up the red candy and peer at the dark trail meandering up the Mountain's side.
The words barely leave her lips when something happens to the girl in front of her. The change is so startling that Beechbone does not even notice that she has changed, too. At a year old, she is used to the clicking and popping and the unexplained pain of growing. She snuffles softly, staringly at the stranger who has suddenly turned into an absolutely enormous mouse, and whose ears are definitely not part of her own costume.
"Oh, my mistake, I'm sorry. Those are obviously your ears. And they're lovely round ears, they don't look costume-y at all." Her long whiskers tremble with the thought that she might have insulted the large mouse and she bunches her hand-paws nervously together, pressing them anxiously against the curve of her jaw. It's only when she does this that she feels how long and narrow it has become, how filled with needle-sharp teeth, and Beechbone, so used to being too large and too strong, finds herself to be another kind of monster, something that kills to eat, with a strange patchy coat and creepy clawy fingers and a long tail that curls like a snake around her. She grabs it up and hugs it close to her body then, on an impulse, she shoves it into the skin-pouch on her belly to hide it.
FLEE!
She turns, hissing, and trots away into the night, but she doesn't get far. It's just too awkward to run with her tail stuffed into her belly so the yearling soon stops and pulls it out again. In the distance she can hear the witches laughing and somewhere, there's a parrot screaming, but in the woods where she has stopped it is deathly silent, not even the dry leaves rustle on the ends of their bran--
Ooh, a piece of candy. Brightly wrapped in red cellophane, it shines mutely in the autumn starlight and she snatches it up as she did her tail before and shoves it into the recently vacated pouch. Nice. Being an opossum isn't that bad. An opossum? Is it an opossum or a opossum? The girl ponders the grammar of her new body idly, plucking more fallen candy from the ground. Where on earth did this all come-- Oh my god a full-size Snickers. It's fallen into the river, caught up on a couple of rocks forcing Beechbone to scurry across the gravelly banks to gain her prize. She looks across the river but it's deep and fast here and she does not feel confident in this body's ability to swim, but Jack had said they must cross the river and he seemed like he knew what he was talking about. The opossum shoves the snickers into her pouch (and also a pretty, smooth agate stone,) while her gaze runs up and down the wild banks. So much of the world dissolves into dimness, her vision is so poor, but not far upstream she sees lights and movement and so she heads for those signs of life. Perhaps someone there will help her?
As the lights come into focus, she can see better what is happening. Torches cast their yellow light fitfully, belching tarry smoke into the air and a slew of the undead are crossing back and forth, slowly. On the opposite bank, a half-built pyramid is taking shape. On the near bank, muffled shouting coming from a larger group of them at the top of a pyre, screaming that turns bloody and dies back to a soft whine when one of the zombies lifts something small and wet and lays it in a box. This happens again and again and when they are finished there is not even any groaning anymore, and the wrapping begins. Beechbone frowns and hugs at the candy in her pouch possessively. They are not getting it back, that's for sure, but she does need to get across and their bridge is so convenient.
How perfect is it that she is an opossum right now and can play dead? The large opossum stands up on its back legs and begins walking stiffly towards the bridge, its forelegs outflung. When it reaches the crossing the undead army begins to swarm around her, ready to grab up the intruder. Their Pharoah requires more mummified servants and mounts and women and food and... opossums? Why not? But Beechbone parts her wide, terrifying mouth, and with a dying groan that would do any normal-sized opossum proud, she begins chanting.
"Imhotep," the undead around her shift, unsure. She says it again, "Imhotep."
"Imhotep," one replies.
"Imhotep," Beechbone says again and is answered by a legion of voices.
"Imhotep. Imhotep. Imhotep. Imhotep." They cross the bridge slowly, chanting the name the whole way across, and when they've reached the other side, Beechbone slows until she's at the very back of the crowd, backing around the corner of the pyramid, her Imhoteps becoming a mere whisper and then nothing at all. When the crowd has passed, she darts back into the shadows, pausing between a pair of old elm trees to crunch up the red candy and peer at the dark trail meandering up the Mountain's side.
Beechbone
Imhotep.
871