- Apr 15, 2024
- 6
- 0
- 1
The world is painfully routine today. Everything is so familiar it makes her back teeth ache; the swamp drips green and ruddy - brown around her, a chorus of buzzing flies and croaking frogs and writhing flesh. The sky sinks towards dusk, bloody red that matches the singed skin along her shoulders and the rabbit tear - tracks down her cheeks, pink eyes gluey with familiar tears from those red rays. Scarred jaws are set in a defiant line, crooked teeth gritted determinately as the patrol stumbles along the edge of the Thunderpath, the air stinking of acrid fumes.
One of them roars past and she coughs wetly through the cloud it leaves behind, lungs aching with the stink in the air. Something thumps hard against the dimples of her ribs and she skitters back, eyes prey - animal wide, tail bushed out to double its size, a mound of tawny - and - white fur spiked behind her. Crowded fangs are bared towards the strange thing and nostrils flare, fur spikes into spires clustered around her shoulders—the thing stinks of Twoleg, of Thunderpath, but also of meat.
Rich, slightly artificial odors waft out from the crumpled brown thing and she aims a cautionary swipe at it, colorless claws rending its strange skin open in a matter of seconds. Out of it spills crusted auburn things that stink of flesh, half - tipped containers of yellow lumps and brown - white smears. Primrosejaw's heavy tail lashes once, twice, and she stares wide - eyed at her patrolmates, trying to figure out what is right to do. What is right to say. She settles for a cautious, " What is that? "
// someone threw some KFC out of their car
One of them roars past and she coughs wetly through the cloud it leaves behind, lungs aching with the stink in the air. Something thumps hard against the dimples of her ribs and she skitters back, eyes prey - animal wide, tail bushed out to double its size, a mound of tawny - and - white fur spiked behind her. Crowded fangs are bared towards the strange thing and nostrils flare, fur spikes into spires clustered around her shoulders—the thing stinks of Twoleg, of Thunderpath, but also of meat.
Rich, slightly artificial odors waft out from the crumpled brown thing and she aims a cautionary swipe at it, colorless claws rending its strange skin open in a matter of seconds. Out of it spills crusted auburn things that stink of flesh, half - tipped containers of yellow lumps and brown - white smears. Primrosejaw's heavy tail lashes once, twice, and she stares wide - eyed at her patrolmates, trying to figure out what is right to do. What is right to say. She settles for a cautious, " What is that? "
// someone threw some KFC out of their car
" speech "