Her steps had not been her own on the mountain; like a husk, her movement was mechanical and hollow, her own chaos muted under another’s hand. But when the strings are cut and the jungle swallows her, she gasps as though she’s been dropped into a dream too thick with breath to escape.
The air clings to her before the ground even steadies beneath her hooves. It’s heavy, humid — a second skin of moisture wrapping around her, sliding down her neck and collecting at the hollow of her throat. Each breath tastes of green rot and sweetness, like the jungle is breathing with her, through her. Leaves crowd close, broad and dripping, trembling with unseen movement. The light here is fractured, fractured — gold bleeding into emerald, shadow laced through both. The earth gives underfoot, soft as flesh, and every step sinks deeper than it should.
“Too close,” she murmurs, antennae flicking as though trying to push the air back. “You’re all too close.” She moves through the thicket, neon mane snagging on vines that feel almost eager. Petals brush her flank, wet and sticky, leaving streaks of pollen like fingerprints. A droplet falls from above, honey-thick and glistening, landing on her shoulder. It sizzles.
She freezes.
The pain doesn’t come all at once. It spreads, slow and creeping down her body like fire tasting its way up a fuse. Then it ignites. The acid eats through fur, through skin, burrowing deep enough that the sound of it bubbles and crackles fills her ears. Her breath stutters, "No, no, no..." She staggers back, shaking it off, but the vines have already decided she’s theirs. They entangle her legs first, then her ribs, coiling like serpents that pulse with life. Where they touch, they burn. The heat blossoms, unbearable, crawling beneath her hide. It’s not just pain, it's a hunger.
Her scream rips free, torn and raw. The air drinks it in as steam curls up from her skin as it melts away, ivory gleaming through where flesh had been. The jungle hums louder, almost delighted. Flowers quiver and something in the canopy croons back. Tipsy thrashes, hooves gouging mud, but every motion tears more of her away — strips her down to the bone. The acid licks up her throat and she can taste herself burning. It’s sweet, metallic, unbearable.
Then the vines loosen. What’s left of her slumps forward — a skeleton slick with acid sheen and moss, breaths she no longer needs coming in phantom gasps. Her body shivers with a ghost sensation, as if her body still remembers what skin felt like. “I’m… still here?” she whispers, voice a hollow chime against her skull. The jungle watches in silence. Even the air seems to pause, waiting.
When she finally moves, it’s with the faint rattle of bone against bone. The ground no longer yields, it recoils to her. She passes through hanging ferns and phosphorescent roots until the trees fall away and the river reveals itself, a wide black surface moving like muscle. She stops at its edge. The humidity clings tighter now, condensing on bare bone, beading and dripping like sweat she can no longer make. Behind her, the jungle hums softly, hungry still and ahead the river roars.
The air clings to her before the ground even steadies beneath her hooves. It’s heavy, humid — a second skin of moisture wrapping around her, sliding down her neck and collecting at the hollow of her throat. Each breath tastes of green rot and sweetness, like the jungle is breathing with her, through her. Leaves crowd close, broad and dripping, trembling with unseen movement. The light here is fractured, fractured — gold bleeding into emerald, shadow laced through both. The earth gives underfoot, soft as flesh, and every step sinks deeper than it should.
“Too close,” she murmurs, antennae flicking as though trying to push the air back. “You’re all too close.” She moves through the thicket, neon mane snagging on vines that feel almost eager. Petals brush her flank, wet and sticky, leaving streaks of pollen like fingerprints. A droplet falls from above, honey-thick and glistening, landing on her shoulder. It sizzles.
She freezes.
The pain doesn’t come all at once. It spreads, slow and creeping down her body like fire tasting its way up a fuse. Then it ignites. The acid eats through fur, through skin, burrowing deep enough that the sound of it bubbles and crackles fills her ears. Her breath stutters, "No, no, no..." She staggers back, shaking it off, but the vines have already decided she’s theirs. They entangle her legs first, then her ribs, coiling like serpents that pulse with life. Where they touch, they burn. The heat blossoms, unbearable, crawling beneath her hide. It’s not just pain, it's a hunger.
Her scream rips free, torn and raw. The air drinks it in as steam curls up from her skin as it melts away, ivory gleaming through where flesh had been. The jungle hums louder, almost delighted. Flowers quiver and something in the canopy croons back. Tipsy thrashes, hooves gouging mud, but every motion tears more of her away — strips her down to the bone. The acid licks up her throat and she can taste herself burning. It’s sweet, metallic, unbearable.
Then the vines loosen. What’s left of her slumps forward — a skeleton slick with acid sheen and moss, breaths she no longer needs coming in phantom gasps. Her body shivers with a ghost sensation, as if her body still remembers what skin felt like. “I’m… still here?” she whispers, voice a hollow chime against her skull. The jungle watches in silence. Even the air seems to pause, waiting.
When she finally moves, it’s with the faint rattle of bone against bone. The ground no longer yields, it recoils to her. She passes through hanging ferns and phosphorescent roots until the trees fall away and the river reveals itself, a wide black surface moving like muscle. She stops at its edge. The humidity clings tighter now, condensing on bare bone, beading and dripping like sweat she can no longer make. Behind her, the jungle hums softly, hungry still and ahead the river roars.