07-23-2016, 10:51 AM
I do not know how long I have been gone. Normally I am much better about keeping track of time, checking in so Father and Mother do not worry. Though I suppose, normally my time away isn’t spent screaming in agony as demons made of ice claw their way through my skin. I tend more toward thorough, categorical exploration of a new location or environment. Well, a cage made of demonic ice is, technically speaking, a new environment. And perhaps pressing against ice that somehow caused pain nerves to fire out of control, far outside of any logical bounds for exposure to frozen water could account for.
Perhaps, then, it is understandable that I do not know how much time has passed since I left my guardian behind at the edge of Echo Trails and set out on my own. Curious, how high levels of pain distort perception. Even now, I do not know how long I have been walking across vast stretches of ice. Each touch of demon claws to my skin burned, cauterizing the wounds even as they sliced through the flesh of my chest, my flank. Trailing down my neck like a caress, coaxing screams from my throat until my voice was broken and raw. With every step, the damaged skin stretches and pulls, blurring my vision and making it nearly impossible to focus. The only thought left in my head is home, and I stumble in what I think is the right direction.
I should know. It should be obvious based on landmarks, the shape of hills, the curve of the river, the angles and planes of the earth, but I can’t think. If I stopped, maybe the haze would clear enough that I could impartially study my surroundings and confirm that I am navigating properly toward home. However. A question buzzes inside my skull, data points synthesizing themselves on autopilot until a reasonable conclusion presents itself: if I stop, I will not be able to start moving again. For once, this is a hypothesis I do not wish to test.
The instant I trip across the border to my family’s territory, the shadow panther is there, glowing green eyes flaring with rage and admonition. I should not have left him behind, those eyes say. He could have protected me, or if he was not enough defense, he could have summoned my father. I am too spent to argue with my friend that I am not a child in need of constant minding, especially when the evidence is stacked so staggeringly high against me.
Instead, I fall into him, letting the shadows that compose his body wrap around me. I am home. I am safe. Now I can finally stop fighting, dragging myself across--when did I leave ice behind? When did my hooves step off that vast stretch of frozen wasteland and onto earth? I don’t remember, and when I look back there is nothing to see. That’s okay. Lifting my head requires far too much work anyhow.
Perhaps, then, it is understandable that I do not know how much time has passed since I left my guardian behind at the edge of Echo Trails and set out on my own. Curious, how high levels of pain distort perception. Even now, I do not know how long I have been walking across vast stretches of ice. Each touch of demon claws to my skin burned, cauterizing the wounds even as they sliced through the flesh of my chest, my flank. Trailing down my neck like a caress, coaxing screams from my throat until my voice was broken and raw. With every step, the damaged skin stretches and pulls, blurring my vision and making it nearly impossible to focus. The only thought left in my head is home, and I stumble in what I think is the right direction.
I should know. It should be obvious based on landmarks, the shape of hills, the curve of the river, the angles and planes of the earth, but I can’t think. If I stopped, maybe the haze would clear enough that I could impartially study my surroundings and confirm that I am navigating properly toward home. However. A question buzzes inside my skull, data points synthesizing themselves on autopilot until a reasonable conclusion presents itself: if I stop, I will not be able to start moving again. For once, this is a hypothesis I do not wish to test.
The instant I trip across the border to my family’s territory, the shadow panther is there, glowing green eyes flaring with rage and admonition. I should not have left him behind, those eyes say. He could have protected me, or if he was not enough defense, he could have summoned my father. I am too spent to argue with my friend that I am not a child in need of constant minding, especially when the evidence is stacked so staggeringly high against me.
Instead, I fall into him, letting the shadows that compose his body wrap around me. I am home. I am safe. Now I can finally stop fighting, dragging myself across--when did I leave ice behind? When did my hooves step off that vast stretch of frozen wasteland and onto earth? I don’t remember, and when I look back there is nothing to see. That’s okay. Lifting my head requires far too much work anyhow.