She lay in a bed of emerald and ash — bones and glittering scales scattered about her, catching the silver moonlight as she crunches through yet another fattened fish body. The trees around her are returning to their winter-season slumber, with brightly gilded leaves that tremble in a calm midnight breeze. Yellows, oranges, and vibrant reds show through even in the night’s deep shadows. This night — an indulgent night, just as any other for the kelpic huntress.
And yet, not a night like any other.
A smell — a peculiar, sour tinge floating where once the sweet scent of bark and mist had threaded through the deafened air. The breeze has stopped. The sound of the river’s tumbling waters — their humming flow — is muted. The sounds around her: crickets, katydids, night birds, and footsteps — all snuffed away. Her companion crawls from his little nest of leaves and lichen, yawning as he blinks his eyes into focus.
“Something is not right, Tybalt.”
The kelpie mare rises on four long legs. She’s lithe and long in her equine form, her glowing eyes scanning her surroundings to find nothing odd in front of her. Behind her, however, the river has turned into something unknown. Thick ooze replaces the once-crystalline, fertile waters — green and unnatural. With all that she has seen in her long life here in Beqanna, this was not necessarily a shocking surprise... but it was certainly a curious one.
“What’s this?” she asks the little dragon, who is sneering, disgusted. Both of them just watch the water change to ooze.
Was it poison? It has to be, right?
Does a friendly ooze take over your local river? Probably not.
So, what now? she asks herself, quirking her head to one side as she mulls over a thought. Retreating far from it would probably be the safest, yes? Boring. She grabs a stick and tosses it in. Will it sizzle and dissolve away in the toxic fluid? Will it rise as a stick beast? Will it simply float away with the current? She stands ready for whatever.