Oleander

Melt all your art and drink the paint

The young foal struggled in the mud, trying to get back to her feet, but if her earlier struggle could tell anything, it was that getting to your feet in the middle of a swamp wasn't as easy as it seemed. It was too late to do anything. The shadow fell over her eyes and she tried to jerk away, but she was too slow.

Blinding agony set upon her face and she screeched. It was her first taste of pain and it was terrible, all the vision in her left eye suddenly filling with red before blacking out entirely as talon scoured through her face. Something wet and sticky was starting to run down her cheek from the wound the vulture had left and she didn't know what it was, all she knew was that she hurt, she hurt so much, and she didn't like it at all!

She struggled back, but there was no need. The vulture was retreating back into the sky and she was left writing in the mud, her back legs kicking furiously against an enemy that wasn't there. Only the other one's voice broke through her haze and she acted without thinking about it. Get away from here. She had the chance to keep going, she would take it!

Somehow, she got her hooves grounded in the mud and hauled herself back to her feet, weeping as a streak of pain ran across her face and she followed the other horse blindly, stumbling over literally everything in her path as they raced towards shelter.

@Warrior

His running was not graceful--even on flat land, his youthful limbs and knobbled knees would have been a jerky stumble. The patches of thick mud didn't help, and his flight was floundering, falling, and staggering.

Now and again he fired a frightened glance back, pointing his little horn to the sky, ready to fight should the vulture return--though terrified of having to do so. When at last he reached the safety of cover, he found that it wasn't much cover at all. It was but a large, downed black tree trunk, one of the Dead Marsh's bit of life, fallen and left to rot. He clambered down to hunker against it, his heart racing, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

By some miracle, he'd neither fallen into deep water or quicksand, nor had he plowed into a patch of toxic gas.

"Here--fast," he urged Oleander, and he noted with fear that the red had entered her eye--or had it come from it-? Adrenaline still rushed through him, though he could feel the distant, dull ache of pain throughout his shoulder and his face. Though he didn't know it yet, that pain would become extreme, given time; for now, only fear held it at bay.

He pressed against the black, dead wood; it was taller, even on its side, than the foal was and hid his body from at least one direction. He was slicked enough with mud that he'd be hard to see from any distance, and at least the rank stench of the marsh might hide the scent of blood. He wasn't experienced enough to understand that he was safe--or as safe as one could be, in Hydra; he only knew to lay there, driven by instinct, his head and ears flattened low and his voice very quiet.

"You--okay?"

@Oleander

Oleander

Melt all your art and drink the paint

She didn't know where she was going, quickly falling behind the brown foal in front of her. She was placing a lot in his hands (or, uh, hooves), trusting him to lead her to safety, or as best of safety that he could find, instead of turning around and eating her or throwing her to the vultures so he could escape.

She breathed out with relief as they pressed up against a tree trunk, although she couldn't see it. The vision in her left side was completely gone and her only functioning eye was currently clouded with terror. She was heaving and trembling, the pain having gotten so great that it barely even registered in her brain anymore. Relatively, it wasn't a terrible wound - definitely not life threatening and other creatures had suffered worse. But it was the first wound she'd ever received and it might as well have been a grave injury to her.

She collapsed next to warrior as her wobbly knees finally gave way and the dam broke. Tears spilled out of her eyes, the left mingling with the blood and making her wounds sting worse, which only made her cry harder. She kept the noise to a minimum, however, pressing the sobs down as much as she could so as not to attract another predator to their location. She shook her head frantically. "N-no...hurts...c-can't see!"

She looked up at him, vision blurring in and our, and realized that he was injured too, scratches on his face and shoulder. She let out a small gasp. "You...you hurt!"

@Warrior

His dark eyes searched briefly over hers--the injury to it had streaked with blood, so that the gold-flecked magenta was stained and ruined. He felt fear roil through him--and he wanted that to stop; wanted that more than anything. This world was not friendly, it was frightening, dark and scary. Things might come at any moment and hurt them more.

"Your eye-" he squeaked softly. She couldn't see; her eye was damaged. But him--he was hurt? Were his eyes okay?

He blinked--he could still see. He looked down at himself, at the blood where it trickled down, and then out at the trail of it that sifted into the marsh where they'd run, where it'd fallen, drop by drop behind them. The pain was bad, but he felt almost ashamed to suggest that when this other foal had clearly lost so much more. Would her eye heal-? He had no way of knowing. But her wounds were greater than his, he thought. "Am okay," he answered, his voice a near-whisper. His voice shook, his body trembled, and he pushed closer to Oleander--his only company in this dark world--and did the only thing he could think to do: he talked. He talked to distract her, he talked to distract himself, but he kept his voice deadly-quiet. To do otherwise, he knew now, was to invite catastrophe.

"Don't know... what that was. Am new. You new? Who you?" He sought, briefly, for a name--a word to identify himself, to define himself. He'd fought--he was a fighter, he decided, and he answered without much consideration or second-guessing. "Am Warrior." He found himself inspecting her wounds, again--and then the marsh, and then the sky, fear keeping him on high alert. "Hope we are--safe, now..." he half-whimpered, despite his attempts to stay brave before the wounded filly.

@Oleander

Oleander

Melt all your art and drink the paint

She continued to sob softly, more out of terror then any kind of loss over her eye - it hadn't really registered yet and she didn't really understand what this meant. For all she knew, her sight would come back when the pain went away. She cried because it hurt and because she was scared.

How was he doing it? Sitting there so much more confident then her, brushing off his own pain to focus on her? She felt a shiver of guilt for getting herself into this in the first place. She appreciated it when he got closer. She pressed up back, the gentle touch of his body grounding through the pain and terror. His voice, as well, kept her from giving in too much as she processed words and tried to think of her own responses. "Don't know either. Am new too. Scared. This place scary. Where are we?" It was probably a stupid question, considering that Warrior had literally just told her that he was new too, but she wanted to know anyways.

She hiccuped as her sobs began to die down a little bit. "Am...Oleander." She couldn't tell that he was nervous too, she was far too focused on her own suffering at the moment, but a side of her was still concerned for the wounds he'd suffered. She let out a small whimper. "Hope we safe too...can't fight more..."

@Warrior

"Scary," he agreed, softly, not daring to budge a muscle where he lay in the muck. The pain was already growing worse, a roaring heat in the wounds, not made any better by the filthy swamp water that had filtered into them. He tried to ignore them.

"Don't know where we are," he answered, looking around again. A moment of consideration, and he wagered a hesitant guess. "...Wet place. Hot place. Bad place, maybe." He lifted his head higher, briefly daring a glance out behind the log. He couldn't see the vulture, anymore, nor anything more; it seemed quiet, a dead swamp stretching into the haze as far as the eye could see.

He sank back down against the zebra filly. "See nothing--I see nothing--... Um. Only water. Air?" He didn't know all the words, but they seemed to come to him in drips and trickles as he needed them, and he struggled to commit them to memory.

"Oleander. We stay here-? Or-... We go?" It was a hesitant question, uncertainly-asked. He wasn't quite sure where they could go. Staying here seemed dangerous--and already, hunger, though he didn't know what it was, gnawed at him. But heading out, again, into the unprotected unknown--that seemed deadly, too. Unsure of himself he fell still again, watching the zebra foal in silence.

Could she even move, or travel-? They were warm here, at least, but with the wet, it wasn't too hot. Could they just... stay here, then, indefinitely-?

@Oleander

Oleander

Melt all your art and drink the paint

The young foal let out a small sigh of relief. If Warrior did not see anything, maybe the vultures had moved one. Maybe if they tried to move away, they'd be safe from them for now. She didn't want to stay here. It was cold and murky and it smelled and she was afraid of the water. Instincts said that it was most likely as dangerous as the claws that had torn open her face. "Bad place," she squeaked. "Very bad place."

Warrior suddenly asking her if they should leave or stay caught her off guard and she looked up, blinking. "I...I want...to go but..." She glanced at the foal's injuries as her own spiked. "Unsure if smart. Might be worse somewhere else. Don't know. But I don't wanna stay here. I'm scared." She hurt. She was hungry. She was exhausted from fear. She didn't know what to do. She was utterly lost and looked up helplessly at Warrior.

@Warrior

The horse foal hesitated yet again. And who could blame either of them-? Two lost children thrown into a desperate struggle for survival in a blistering hellscape upon their very emergence?

The sting of his wounds, the scent of his own blood, had fear roiling through him. Half of him was tempted to sleep: to rest, to regain his strength. The other half, as with Oleander, feared staying here; and some part of him, too, some part filled with strength and fire, wanted to push ahead and see if he could find safer haven.

"You can stay-? Rest? I can look for-... a better place?" he suggested, though it was uncertain. Eyeing her own wounds, though--and in particular the cut across her eye--he offered another alternative. "If you want--sleep. I'll watch. You're safe; I'll protect," he assured her, with a courage he didn't feel, with fear thrumming through his gut.

@Oleander

Oleander

Melt all your art and drink the paint

Oleander looked up with terror as Warrior suggested leaving. Perhaps it was selfish, but she didn't want him to leave her, even if it was to find somewhere else. What if he died? What if he got lost? What if he found safety and chose not to return for her?! She didn't think she could handle any of that. She hiccuped with fear and shook her head. "No. D-don't...don't leave. Please!" She was prepared to beg to keep him around, but he didn't look very eager to leave either.

She tried to swallow the terror that was rising again in favor of calming herself, taking deep breaths to steady her heart. She nodded, silently, grateful for his second offer. She still felt a pang of guilt at needing his protection...but she kind of liked that feeling, that he'd be there to watch over her, even though he was hurt as well. "Thank...Warrior. I would...like that. If you need sleep, wake and I will watch."

@Warrior

The foal gave a dip of his head in acknowledgement.

"Okay. I'll--stay awake. You sleep," he responded. He dipped his head, then, offering a light brush of velvet-soft muzzle in a reassuring gesture, toward part of Oleander's face that wasn't wounded. He then curled down, back on knees and hocks, lying in the muck in silence.

There he waited, and watched, and tried his best to stay awake despite his trembling weariness, his fear, his wounds. And stay awake he did: quiet, alert, struggling but staying true to his word. When his head began to dip, his mind supplied, unbidden, fearful images of vultures creeping up on them--and he'd turn, staring around with wide eyes and flared nostrils.

But he played sentry, and no matter how long Oleander rested, Warrior remained alert.

@Oleander