If Kera could remember how she got here, she'd likely be angry about it.

She never left her home; not once in the last few cycles. The last thing she remembered was heading to her den to sleep, and then she woke up in darkness. She had been here before-- her chrysalis, she knew of it --but she didn't know how she got here, or where she really even was.

Sleep-died, perhaps.

The rose quartz chrysalis sat in the ruins of her homes-- dark stones and charred foundation piled on top of it. Breaking it was easy enough. A strong leg kicked out behind her and the gemstone came crumbling down; but promptly, she was hit in the face with a brick.

"Oh fuck ME," she snarled through stone. It was akin to digging out of her own grave; a powerful paw lifted to push stone and brick aside as she scrambled up. It hurt. Charred ash and dirt got in her mouth and her eyes as she hauled her girthy body out of the remains of her den.

And even then, she was on top of a mound. Kera's tongue swiped her muzzle as she started half-skidding, half-clambering down, cutting her pawpads on bits of sharp rock. There were no lights or mushrooms here anymore-- they were either crushed or burned away in the fire.

In fact... everything was charred, burnt by fire. What happened here?

The wolf looked around, shook herself out, and then sat down to start licking at the cuts along her legs. "Fuck me," she repeated, spitefully.

Orion was nice this time of year.

It was just a little sooty, walls still carrying the scars of dragonfire and pure plasma. The acrid stench of the Black Dragon's fury laid gently across the cave, and Hargrave swore she could still see the beast's silhouette careening through the air - even if she'd not been here to witness that. Those dark impulses had left her, but she still had... a strange admiration for that monster and the sheer power he held. Unbridled flame and anger.

She didn't have either of those, quite yet - and she wasn't going to look for the latter.

What she would look for, though, was the source of all the grunting, snarling, shifting - rubble moving about. Hargrave made her approach, cautious but with no small amount of confidence as she twisted to grab the sword slung through the strap of her (admittedly stolen from a dead Master) satchel. Her breath fogged around the hilt, teeth gripping it rather loosely - she cast warmth from within, though... just in case she accidentally touched her tongue to the frigid handle. No need to embarrass herself.

Hargrave plodded forwards, head lowered but hoisting her blade in her jaws. There was a dirty-looking canine sitting on a mound of rubble, licking up and down her legs, muttering curses to herself. The Gray Hare gripped the sword a little tighter, tapping the end of the blade on some brick. A soft tink! tink! echoed from it, vibrating up the cold steel and making her teeth hurt. She loosened her grip on the weapon again, rounding so she was in the wolf's direct line of sight, calling around it: "are you alright?"

The dog gave a quick once over of the rubble, head tilting, "did your den fall in?"

@Kera