The sensations came on deceptively gradually--at first it was like a shadow at the corner of her mind, and then her being had been eclipsed by this dream.

Running. Fleeing. Agony. Terror.

Death.

The shock of it tumbled her mind, rolling her into unconsciousness, her eyes mirroring her fall--dark turning to whites, her legs collapsing beneath her. One instant she was staring down curiously; the next she had collapsed to the rock, her body frantically reacting as if she herself had relived the experience.

Her muscles began to ache, twitching and pulsing until her legs jerked as if in seizure. Her jaw clenched and unclenched, faint half-choked whimpers escaping as flecks of froth sprayed from between her fangs.

The hyena would remain unconscious for some time, helpless on the rocky ground, her mind and body slowly recovering from the utter shock of experiencing death.

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Roll the bones.

((ooc: anyone is welcome to pop in and attack or poke or whatever! Giggs is pretty helpless atm!))

Weeks had passed.

She had been hesitant to try it again--to try seeing, not through the fungus, but through the dead. Well--through the fungus anyway. But the difference was important.

She'd assimilated death, and gone so far as to ask the bones of how she would die. The bones--or, she supposed--the ever-present mycelia growing on them--had woven whispered tales of a long life well-lived, and so some of the fear had left her.

But now, she knew what mortality was.

Now, she knew death.

It was time to try again. The hyena stood, padding slowly the few steps to the strange dried bone, alien in nature, that lay before her. A shiver ran through her; would she die, again? Would she see the same image? It was a different bone, but one from the same pile. It still held a strange gemstone within it, something she didn't recognize, and she wondered if this would add to the magic, somehow. Enhance it.

Inhaling deeply, Giggle lowered her head, concentrating, briefly shivering as she did her best to coat the thing in consumptive, truth-imparting fungus. She watched through dark and slitted eyes as it spread, little red fungal fruits popping up like wind-touched heads of bobbing wildflowers. And then, she began to slowly eat them, fighting back the fear to focus on seeing what memories the fungus had managed to garner from the bone.

But nothing came, and with a snorting sigh, the hyena lay before the bone, watching it.

When is the secret to all of this? Why have you nothing to show me...? I have practice yet to do, it seems.

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Roll the bones.

There.

The hyena sat back, satisfied, looking over her garden with a lick of her lips. The newest flesh-caked bone was already being colonized, residue of her magic swimming over it in a glitter of red. She lifted the old bone in her teeth--the profits of her "work;" she always ate the old ones, when the flesh that clung to them was no longer sufficient to feed the mycelia.

Lying on her stomach, she sighed contentedly through her nose. Then a crunch, a crack, a splintering, and the taste of marrow flooding her maw.

Dark eyes closed contentedly.

It wasn't often that Giggle simply relaxed. Normally if she ate, she was eating to sustain herself; if she slept, it was to rest. All practical, all necessary. The rest of the time, she was seeking knowledge, or sorting the bones, or searching for more; tending her garden, or consulting the bones, or trotting through Canis to keep tabs on happenings, or hunting.

She rarely simply lazed about, awake but relaxing, and her tail briefly thumped the ground as she slid to her side, blissful as she chewed the bone into splinters. The taste of fungus was still strong, but it was a pleasant taste--and with a pleasant side effect.

The hyena lolled onto her back, humming briefly and softly in approval as the glow of the orbs began to pulse, and the colors of the cave began to run together.

She'd relax, for now; she'd open herself to the cave, listen to the fungus, and the bones. Then, once she was rested, she'd tackle the complicated magic again.

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Roll the bones.

It was time to try again.

Giggle was up in the bone fortresses, sniffing over the piles, the structures. She was looking for a fresh bone, but there was little chance of that; and, as a result, she knew, finding one the fungus could feed from would be difficult, at best.

Nowhere was there any odor of residual meat, and as she hunted, she recalled her own hatching. How frustrated she had been, tearing at the bones, pulling them free from the structures one-by-one only to find bone after bone that was hollow, crumbling to dry and ashen dust in her mouth. It had been a hell, one that Aza'zel had finally saved her from.

Still, she was faced with a grim echo of that frustration now.

The scent of something musty was the only hint she had toward anything that wasn't simply going to crumble away into thin air. She followed this, nosing through a couple of the nearby fortresses until she found its source: a damp, green-tinged bone in a wet corner of a fortress, half-buried in the dirt. Now here was a prize; most of the fortress area was on rock, so finding dirt and bones buried in it was a treasure.

She began to dig, tugging with teeth once she'd exposed enough of it. It pulled free after some time, and she laid it down to inspect it, sniffing at it.

It was a rib, she thought; there was a small amethyst embedded in the top. Giggle pawed at this, pondering; finally she leaned down, closing her eyes and clenching jaws firmly but not too tightly around the rib. She started off by breathing deeply and evenly, concentrating, focusing, murmuring in her mind to the omnipresent mycelia. It answered her call, buzzing back in her mind, until she felt as if she were floating--detached from her own body, one with the everything all around her.

Then, with a sudden surge, she funneled her power into the bone before her--trying to draw the life from the fungus around her, and pour it into the bone-devouring spores on the moldy bone before her.

She bit at it, as they grew, sucking and chewing on the knowledge that they gained, consuming their wisdom into herself.

She saw flashes of memory, but they were still beyond her comprehension: indistinct shapes, shapeless sounds. She tried to stifle a growl of frustration, but it rumbled forth nonetheless.

As the power faded, drifting away in waves, she found herself sitting--staring down sullenly at the bone before her.

Giggle took deep breaths, focusing. It wasn't a failure. It was progress. The fungus wasn't eluding her... she just had to learn how to handle it.

The hyena sighed, and flopped down to more idly chew at the bone, deep in thought--and deep in disappointment.

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Roll the bones.

Here she was again, staring down at her fungal garden, focusing and gathering herself with slow, deep breaths. Her mind was blank, open to the fungus. She had to start slow. To start small.

Softly exhale.

Deep, slow inhale.

The fungus buzzed, alive all around her; she could sense it.

Slow exhale.

Gentle inhale.

Giggle lowered herself to her haunches, staring downward, looking unseeing at the fungus.

Inhale. Exhale.

A sudden intake of breath, and she drew in her power, as well: through her stone, through her skin, through her pelt, from all around her.

Her vision lit up, the world glittering all around her. She wasn't seeing the fungus; she was seeing through the fungus, disembodied from herself. The world glowed, each droplet of water visible from a thousand angles, shining bright as diamonds. The gentle movement of stale cave air felt like a cool breeze, refreshing, and the rot present beneath the mushrooms felt like a field of energy, of life, pulsing just below.

Bridging life and death.

The hyena concentrated, letting her mind go, wandering through the mycelia; she crept up the cave wall, dissociated from herself and disoriented, but not caring. She let herself go, let her focus on the strangeness of it all go, and instead simply took in what the mycelia had to show her.

And she was shown the world: vast, unchanging yet ever-changing, beautiful and magnificent and enormous in its facets. A new perspective.

She'd seen it this way before, but the reminder was breathtaking... staggering.

With a sudden gasp, she dropped to the rock, her vision tearing back through the fungus and reentering her own mind, her own body.

I have to be careful not to tax myself too much.

She would take a rest. Breathe deeply, in and out, basking in her sense of determined satisfaction. And then she would try it again.

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Roll the bones.

The hyena took a brief break, breathing slowly and evenly again and focusing on emptying her mind. After several minutes, she lowered her head, watching the head of a fungus only a few inches from her snout.

She could feel them. She knew the world, through their "eyes." She had managed such feats as forcing a pack of vicious raptors away from other Gembounds using the fungus, or listening to the whispers of history along the tunnel walls.

She had only to focus, to concentrate, and to relax--to let the fungus guide her, and not to force it.

But then, at times, it was she who guided it. Their relationship was symbiotic; mutualistic. It guided her, and she tended it in its gardens, she praised its value to others, she was a priestess and a disciple of mycelia in all its forms.

They guided one another.

With these thoughts in mind, the hyena took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and gently urged the mycelia all around her to spread, to grow, beneath her guidance.

The spread was gentle; the carpet barely moved, but she could feel it spread nonetheless, could feel the spores take root all around her, the ground filling with life. The fruiting bodies did not yet coat the rock, but they were there, and--satisfied--the hyena stood back up and turned away.

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Roll the bones.

Up she had gone, back to her bone pile; now she nosed over the hallucinogenic brown mushrooms. She could work on them, she supposed--grow them, keep them fruiting, as was necessary for her defenses. Some time ago, she'd been attacked here--at her own pit--by a monster, an arrogant bastard whose memory still made her fangs grit together and grind.

She'd grown fungus in response to another, earlier attack, but even that hadn't been enough to stop Rafael. She'd been attacked from above, instead, the winged beast a monstrosity. Ever since, she'd wondered what she could do in case of a repeat attack.

An enemy in the air? Then we'll have to prepare the air.

Giggle slowly tilted her long, muscular neck back so that she could stare up, up at the ceiling of the cave; her black muzzle slowly split into a grin.

Yes.

She'd work with the flesh-eating stuff, first; the cave ceiling was quite low, here, and it shouldn't be too hard to encourage the spores to spread. In fact, she couldn't have picked a better part of the cave. The floor here nearly touched the roof, closer than at any other point. It was practically made for such a defense.

If she managed, she'd try to add the hallucinogenic spores, too. No point in using only lethal means, after all.

With a soft chuckle, Giggle trotted up to where she kept the flesh-eating fungus, up near the ledge that looked down over the pit. Then she poured her focus--and her magic--into the fungal dander, encouraging it to drift out to the down-swinging roof; she even shook out her coat, sending a plume of it skyward.

Now, she just had... to concentrate...

After a moment of focus she could feel the stuff taking root. She even took the time to spread the spores over a few bones, flinging them with her jaws upward, so that they impacted physically--just in case it required manual touch.

Soon enough she could sense the fungus growing, spreading, taking root where she guided it to.

Now if Rafael or one of his ilk decided to make a repeat performance, they'd be standing directly beneath their deaths.

Giggle grinned, satisfied with this.

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Roll the bones.

Giggle made her way back down, still flushed with the triumphant joy of having accomplished her rather bizarre goal.

Now it was time to add the second set of fungus: the hallucinogenic kind. These were brown, conical, with pale stems that bruised blue. Eating them or even inhaling their spores, when magic sent them drifting, could send someone into the throes of visions unlike anything else.

Giggle had tried them, a few times; sometimes it was pleasant, vivid but calm. When stressed, or when directed with ill intent via magic, it tended to fill the mind with dark horrors, screaming shadow monsters and ripping mental pain. It felt real, it seemed real and it could provide a good defense--even an excellent one.

Giggle remembered when she'd briefly had to stifle Baratheon's rage--and the memory set her on edge, gritting her teeth. He'd been a young thing, and she'd treated him maternally. Felt motherly toward him, and let her sympathy get the better of her. She'd released him before he'd had full control, and he'd nearly killed her son. Some payback.

It didn't matter, now. Now, the hyena was picking up clods of dirt in her teeth, dirt inundated with the spores of the mushrooms that had grown on them. These were grouped in a ring around--and scattered within--her pit of bones, so that she had some defense prepared should she be attacked within them.

Giggle carried the dirt up to the overhanging ledge, looking up at the cave roof a few feet above. She focused, drawing her magic up within her, willing it into the spores and tossing the dirt upward simultaneously--aiming to grow and spread some of them as they struck stone.

With any luck, soon she'd have not one but two defenses--one lethal, one a mere deterrent--should things get ugly here once more.

She waited, and watched. The fungus hit the ceiling, only a few spores striking, but what did, she managed to guide into flourishing. It took a great deal of effort, and naturally most of it simply scattered and fell into the pit below as soon as it hit.

Giggle had to work for some time, guiding and directing it, putting forth all her effort and energy into growing the fungus--but once she was done, the ceiling was coated in a speckled rug of brown and red growth.

Satisfied, she turned and trotted down toward her den, to rest.

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Roll the bones.

She intended to wear herself out. To push herself to the limits, to strain her magic beyond all comprehension and then to rest.

Perhaps by testing herself in such a way, she could--eventually--make a breakthrough. She could find greatness, become one with the mycelia all around her.

She stood before the tunnel that led from Canis, and she wondered why she'd never thought of such a thing before. To seed the tunnel, to fill it with fungus that was forever linked to her mind; she could then check, see, viewing through the mushrooms to keep a wary watch on the tunnel's mouth. Not that it was needed, not exactly; Kerberos made sure of that. He guarded the other end, the side that jutted into Orion. For her part, she stayed in Canis, almost always.

But that didn't mean she couldn't watch.

The hyena stalked into the cold, silent tunnel, head low. The place made her nervous. She knew it was just residual magic, but that hardly mattered; the fact of the matter was, it felt as if she shouldn't be here. As if she should never be here.

But the fungus was here. She'd sensed it in the past, used it; if it hadn't been, she'd have hesitated, loathe to condemn a host of living beings to such a fate. But they lived here, already, healthy and sound; she just planned to add to them.

She paused partway in, sniffing around and then choosing a section of wall to spread her spores. She shook out her coat, spreading fungal dander that drifted into the crevices of the rock, and then she focused, concentrating, trying to link with the mycelia and guide it into growth.

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Roll the bones.

She had failed, that much was obvious. The spores had spread, fallen, but she hadn't gotten ahold of them quick enough, hadn't managed to press her magic into them. She could try again, but... there was little point in doing so without focusing.

So she did.

Giggle sat, lowering herself slowly to her haunches and closing her dark eyes. For awhile she again just tried to clear her mind, taking deep, slow breaths, pressing all thoughts away. Empty; she had to be empty. A vessel. A cup for the magic to fill, a hollow bone it could flow through.

Only when she had sat quietly for several long moments did she try to call upon her magic once more. Her mind was calm and peaceful, now, the strange chill of the tunnel barely noticed. It didn't exist; she didn't exist. Only the spores that had fallen away, that had drifted to the ground, and now she was keenly aware of them, like green glittering specks all around her in the darkness.

Delicately, she tried again to let her magic flow to these points, to grow and to spread the spores, allowing them to take root.

A brief test of her mind a moment later told her that she'd succeeded; she could see herself, sitting quietly, could see her back, her head, her tail. It was interesting, and she found herself letting her mind and senses drift from point to point along the spore-infested cave, eyeing herself over, then turning her nonexistent gaze to the intricate cracks and moisture droplets on the rock. The spell had been a strong success; her visions of the tunnel, even from a distance, would come powerfully. She was satisfied with the result.

Eventually she (rather reluctantly) withdrew, feeling that it was best to pull back into herself before she collapsed. She wasn't sure her mind would come back to her body, if she did; maybe she would die, and become one with the fungus.

Maybe that's where she'd go anyway, when she died. Maybe that's where they all went? Death did feed their life, after all.

She stood, moving from point to point, ensuring that the fungal spores would have enough sustenance in the tunnel walls and enough moisture to survive. Once satisfied she turned, trotting at a swift pace back toward Canis. She had a few things left to do.

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Roll the bones.