<link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Cormorant Garamond|Stalemate" rel="stylesheet"><style>.ruth_container {position: relative;width:480px;background:#1D8770; border:2px solid #FFF;padding: 100;border-radius:0px 60px 0px 0px;}.ruth_image {position:relative;z-index:1;width:404px;height:404px;background-image:url('https://i.ibb.co/5xVkb1Q/971c110163ad757ed3a1e8c36cd3ded9.jpg');background-size:contain;border: 0px solid #A06D33;box-shadow: 0px 0px 10px 1px #FFF;border-radius:0px 50px 0px 0px; margin-top: 40px;}.ruth_message {position: relative; width: 400px; background-color:#E1474A; margin-top: -270px; padding: 10px; border: 1px solid #FFF; box-shadow: 0px 0px 10px 1px #FFF;font: 12px 'Times New Roman';color: #FFF; text-align: left;}.ruth_name {z-index:1;text-align: centre;font: 80px 'Stalemate', open-sans;position: relative; bottom: 150px; color:#E1474A; padding:7px;text-shadow: 2px 2px #51F1DD;}</style><center><div class="ruth_container"><div class="ruth_image"></div><p class="ruth_name">Ruthless</p><p class="ruth_message"></centre> The air is still, a calmness that Ruthless had yet adapted to. Born into chaos and uncertainty, the power of comfort was still foreign to our little flame. The absence of harsh winds and bitter cold--a risk to suffocate her final glow of warmth--no longer lingering in the back of her mind as a threat, but instead as a memory. A memory of where she started. A memory of what her mother sacrificed. A memory of what little she has to lose.
Taiga has an earth musk to it, different than the field or common lands that gave her refuge from the daunting evils that lurked in hidden shadows. The moisture in the air sets an early morning mist, something she had grown a liking to over the last few days. It would surround her like walls, hiding her palomino pelt in a haze of grey.
Like her mother--cold at first, but comforting and familiar--coming to visit.
The sun is hidden, still attempting to rise above the trees but truly frustrated by the agonizing height of them. Our little baby Ruth has noticed a change in sunshine; no longer hitting her coat at full force but instead trickling like dripping water through a half-closed faucet. It took some adjustment for our golden child, surely, but she had just started to appreciate the wet-warmth that a mixture of shadow and light produced.
The mist comes punctually, as it always does, with a freshness that clings to her skin. She feels the moisture soak into her skin, her nose inhaling the sweet scent of morning. The sun begs to ignite her coat in a glistening sheen, peeping through every nook and cranny the ancient redwood relinquishes.
It does not happen all at once--in fact had Ruthless noticed maybe a second prior she may have had more of an impact on the final result--but instead happens in sections of her body. At first the tingling sets on her hooves, rising from the ground in an eerie horror that begins to wrap around her body in a suffocating grasp. She feels the grip creep up every ligament and tendon, enveloping her stomach and flank, crossing over her wide-set hindquarters. In moments she has become surrounded by a suffocatingly-thick grey cloud, indulging every inch of her body as if being swallowed whole by a blue whale.
The feeling of fear hardly has the chance to wash over our little golden light, before she is snuffed out by the mist-like intruder.
At first, it is the spongy-floor beneath her that shifts. What is moss and dirt and cool earthy-textures turns into a nearly unbearable warmth of sand, grains caving at the weight of her yearling frame. And just like the mist, the change rises. Had the mist not been so thick, little Ruth would have noticed the disappearance of trees for a barren desert landscape. She would have noticed the shift in temperature, from a chilled brisk morning to a suffocatingly hot afternoon. It isn’t until mist settles--the tingling sensation leaving nearly as quickly as it came--our palomino babe looks around in a daze of confusion and fear.
Where has she gone?
The heat slaps her skin, mercilessly taking away the familiar ancient redwoods and morning fog. The sun hangs high over the orange backdrop, a periwinkle blue sky the only proof water exists. And for the first time Ruthless comes to realize she no longer stands out like a vibrant jewel among rocks of greys, blacks, and browns, but instead a typical grain of sand amongst a billion others. Hell, she could practically consider her coat camouflage.
<I>I want my mom.</i>
A few seconds of self pity ensues before the golden child begins to analyze her surroundings, a mixture of fear and insecurity setting across her spine as if even the wind here is weighted. As if the weight was dead ghosts that had died of exhaustion, their dehydrated whispers still pouring across her spine and tightening across her ribs.
Our little yearling needs water.
She desperately searches her surroundings, viewing the endless dunes and dust devils whipping in the breeze, before landing on distant horses socializing beyond her reach. Alas, despite her desperate plea for help, her voice gets swallowed in the desert air.
It seems like hours--though, perhaps only minutes--before Ruth finds herself meandering in the desert sand, groggily wavering side to side as the heat smothers her in a blanket of dehydration. Her girth, chest, neck, and flank becoming lathered in a foamy white sweat.
She takes a few steps more before the sudden weight of the sun--as if the rays themselves had power--pushes her to her knees. Collapsing front end first, she sinks into the sand feeling the agonizing rush of heat release from the floor. Her head hangs, an obvious quiver surfacing around her neck.
Then, with sudden intensity, her right knee begins to pierce in pain sending the palomino roan to topple over to her left side letting out a high pitched cry for help. She lies spread out, her entire right side buried while her left side feels the rays of sun burn every inch of her exposed body. Where she kneeled sits a small insect, an insect she has never seen, with a curved C for a tail and claws protruding from it’s chest, a cherry like stinger wiggling in the air.
Her stomach flips, nerves tensing and mind racing. <I>What on earth</i>... She lifts her head from the ground, extending her nose to sniff at the alien-like creature still dancing a threat in the crater left from her knees. At the sight of her looming shadow, the miniature monster sinks back into its sandy retreat; only the few dots of blood left lingering on grains of sand proof of its existence.
That, and Ruth’s throbbing knee.
Her head flattens against the hot terrain once more, life rushing away with the sweat as it darkens her once pristine yellow hide. Her eyes gazing into the abyss.
<i>Is that… Water?</i>
Her nose triggers first, the smell of water waving into her flared nostrils as she inhales. And then her eyes follow, her head slightly lifting at the faintest smell of hope. They dart desperately, an instinctual need for survival overpowering her plea for help. A feeling her mother had taught her well.
<i>Move, my little baby Ruth, move</i>.
She extends her left leg, the excruciating sting still throbbing in her right. It takes all she has left, but she balances on all four of her limbs before finding the energy to move. With a slow stride, our little yearling hobbles in anguish.
Her mind is focused on the vibrant sapphire blue oasis with a hoard of palm trees casting a shady hideaway in the distance.
She is walking dinner, a clear choice for predators as they watch her stumble across uneven footing. Her heart is pounding. She feels oxygen escaping her lungs and cannot seem to breathe in deep enough to replenish them. But, despite her honest effort, baby Ruth falls to her knees twice. The feeling of sharp pain in her knee responding to the grains of sand being shoved into her wound.
But our little light is a fighter, a flame too stubborn to be blown out. A burning candle with hardly any wax refusing to lose it’s flicker.
As she arrives in the strange oasis--perfectly placed, yet oddly irrational--her body wavers in hesitation, sudden realization of what she had found and could it be real washing over her like a dose of reality.
<i>Why isn’t anyone else here?</I>
Ruthless freezes, worry enveloping her brain. And so she stands, her right knee slightly cocked to relieve pressure and the heat still bearing down on her intensifying coat, waiting for something-- <i>someone</i>--to tell her she will be OK.
</p></div></center>
OOC: She is a new recruit of Taiga, and poor little Ruth experienced dehydration, and a scorpion sting while finding her way to the oasis.
Edited to add OOC comments only! Thanks
<3
Taiga has an earth musk to it, different than the field or common lands that gave her refuge from the daunting evils that lurked in hidden shadows. The moisture in the air sets an early morning mist, something she had grown a liking to over the last few days. It would surround her like walls, hiding her palomino pelt in a haze of grey.
Like her mother--cold at first, but comforting and familiar--coming to visit.
The sun is hidden, still attempting to rise above the trees but truly frustrated by the agonizing height of them. Our little baby Ruth has noticed a change in sunshine; no longer hitting her coat at full force but instead trickling like dripping water through a half-closed faucet. It took some adjustment for our golden child, surely, but she had just started to appreciate the wet-warmth that a mixture of shadow and light produced.
The mist comes punctually, as it always does, with a freshness that clings to her skin. She feels the moisture soak into her skin, her nose inhaling the sweet scent of morning. The sun begs to ignite her coat in a glistening sheen, peeping through every nook and cranny the ancient redwood relinquishes.
It does not happen all at once--in fact had Ruthless noticed maybe a second prior she may have had more of an impact on the final result--but instead happens in sections of her body. At first the tingling sets on her hooves, rising from the ground in an eerie horror that begins to wrap around her body in a suffocating grasp. She feels the grip creep up every ligament and tendon, enveloping her stomach and flank, crossing over her wide-set hindquarters. In moments she has become surrounded by a suffocatingly-thick grey cloud, indulging every inch of her body as if being swallowed whole by a blue whale.
The feeling of fear hardly has the chance to wash over our little golden light, before she is snuffed out by the mist-like intruder.
At first, it is the spongy-floor beneath her that shifts. What is moss and dirt and cool earthy-textures turns into a nearly unbearable warmth of sand, grains caving at the weight of her yearling frame. And just like the mist, the change rises. Had the mist not been so thick, little Ruth would have noticed the disappearance of trees for a barren desert landscape. She would have noticed the shift in temperature, from a chilled brisk morning to a suffocatingly hot afternoon. It isn’t until mist settles--the tingling sensation leaving nearly as quickly as it came--our palomino babe looks around in a daze of confusion and fear.
Where has she gone?
The heat slaps her skin, mercilessly taking away the familiar ancient redwoods and morning fog. The sun hangs high over the orange backdrop, a periwinkle blue sky the only proof water exists. And for the first time Ruthless comes to realize she no longer stands out like a vibrant jewel among rocks of greys, blacks, and browns, but instead a typical grain of sand amongst a billion others. Hell, she could practically consider her coat camouflage.
<I>I want my mom.</i>
A few seconds of self pity ensues before the golden child begins to analyze her surroundings, a mixture of fear and insecurity setting across her spine as if even the wind here is weighted. As if the weight was dead ghosts that had died of exhaustion, their dehydrated whispers still pouring across her spine and tightening across her ribs.
Our little yearling needs water.
She desperately searches her surroundings, viewing the endless dunes and dust devils whipping in the breeze, before landing on distant horses socializing beyond her reach. Alas, despite her desperate plea for help, her voice gets swallowed in the desert air.
It seems like hours--though, perhaps only minutes--before Ruth finds herself meandering in the desert sand, groggily wavering side to side as the heat smothers her in a blanket of dehydration. Her girth, chest, neck, and flank becoming lathered in a foamy white sweat.
She takes a few steps more before the sudden weight of the sun--as if the rays themselves had power--pushes her to her knees. Collapsing front end first, she sinks into the sand feeling the agonizing rush of heat release from the floor. Her head hangs, an obvious quiver surfacing around her neck.
Then, with sudden intensity, her right knee begins to pierce in pain sending the palomino roan to topple over to her left side letting out a high pitched cry for help. She lies spread out, her entire right side buried while her left side feels the rays of sun burn every inch of her exposed body. Where she kneeled sits a small insect, an insect she has never seen, with a curved C for a tail and claws protruding from it’s chest, a cherry like stinger wiggling in the air.
Her stomach flips, nerves tensing and mind racing. <I>What on earth</i>... She lifts her head from the ground, extending her nose to sniff at the alien-like creature still dancing a threat in the crater left from her knees. At the sight of her looming shadow, the miniature monster sinks back into its sandy retreat; only the few dots of blood left lingering on grains of sand proof of its existence.
That, and Ruth’s throbbing knee.
Her head flattens against the hot terrain once more, life rushing away with the sweat as it darkens her once pristine yellow hide. Her eyes gazing into the abyss.
<i>Is that… Water?</i>
Her nose triggers first, the smell of water waving into her flared nostrils as she inhales. And then her eyes follow, her head slightly lifting at the faintest smell of hope. They dart desperately, an instinctual need for survival overpowering her plea for help. A feeling her mother had taught her well.
<i>Move, my little baby Ruth, move</i>.
She extends her left leg, the excruciating sting still throbbing in her right. It takes all she has left, but she balances on all four of her limbs before finding the energy to move. With a slow stride, our little yearling hobbles in anguish.
Her mind is focused on the vibrant sapphire blue oasis with a hoard of palm trees casting a shady hideaway in the distance.
She is walking dinner, a clear choice for predators as they watch her stumble across uneven footing. Her heart is pounding. She feels oxygen escaping her lungs and cannot seem to breathe in deep enough to replenish them. But, despite her honest effort, baby Ruth falls to her knees twice. The feeling of sharp pain in her knee responding to the grains of sand being shoved into her wound.
But our little light is a fighter, a flame too stubborn to be blown out. A burning candle with hardly any wax refusing to lose it’s flicker.
As she arrives in the strange oasis--perfectly placed, yet oddly irrational--her body wavers in hesitation, sudden realization of what she had found and could it be real washing over her like a dose of reality.
<i>Why isn’t anyone else here?</I>
Ruthless freezes, worry enveloping her brain. And so she stands, her right knee slightly cocked to relieve pressure and the heat still bearing down on her intensifying coat, waiting for something-- <i>someone</i>--to tell her she will be OK.
</p></div></center>
OOC: She is a new recruit of Taiga, and poor little Ruth experienced dehydration, and a scorpion sting while finding her way to the oasis.
Edited to add OOC comments only! Thanks
<3