The lion twitched his ears.

He'd grown. Grown, and grown. No longer was he a tiny cub, long limbed and big pawed. Now he was big, nearly four foot at the shoulder, over seven feet of pure corded muscle. Sand covered golden fur, marked with little scars from a careful life on the sands, rippled as he slunk through his home.


He'd learned to be wary. Monsters tore through the sands beneath his paws, and vultures wheeled above his head. Venomous creatures darted across the ground, and even the prey was dangerous.

So as he slunk down to the river that he'd found best to drink from, he was wary. Twitched his ears, inhaled deep. Watched the waters - who knew what might be in there? - before crouching to drink, his magic twisting up from his paw to help him to retain it in the desert's dry heat.

Jasiri had no way of knowing, but this visit to the water's edge coincided with something darker.

Unnatural shadows began to close around him, shifting the ravine into near-night. With it came cold: driving away that dry heat, frosting his breath, the river's water suddenly pouring steam into the air.

It would be wise to find cover.

Jasiri must roll a barely successful or above to find a hiding place in order to avoid the encroaching shadows...

@Jasiri

Nights in Hydra were cold.

Bone-chilling cold, the type that left you curled into a ball, shivering and shuddering and praying that you'd live to see the morning, missing the heat that left you gasping and missing the cold of the night. But never had he felt the sort of cold that crawled upon him, tore at his lungs, frosted his breath.

The lion stepped back, shaking himself, mane swaying in the air, eyes widening at the sight of the steam that rose off of the river. It was darkening, eery, and maybe if he was younger he would have thought this was just something that came about in the desert, but this was his home, he knew Hydra like the back of his paw, like his Gemstone-pawpad, and this was strange.

He shivered, balked and looked around, trying to find somewhere, anywhere, to hide.

It felt, for a moment, as though something had seen him. Eyes, glancing over him and then away.

Perhaps he was lucky in that the shadows themselves had not yet taken note--distracted with other things, momentarily, or not this close yet--but it crowded close, now.

Sounds became eerily muffled. The cold was oppressive, and even with his feline eyes, Jasiri could not see--

There was a screech, and the slash of talons for the lion's left eye. It was a target the vulture had fixated on as the darkness faded, and it tore at the socket, ripping claws leaving blood in their wake--but then the sound of a squawk as the vulture shot past and hit stone, as blind as the lion was. It took off laboriously, blindly, into the air, leaving Jasiri bleeding and forced to find his way by memory, or his other senses, alone.

Jasiri must find shelter, or the shadows will find him. Time is running out. He is likely to have lost his left eye, or had it badly wounded, with damaged vision, should he survive.

@Jasiri

The feeling of being watched... he hurried, or at least tried to, squinted, but he couldn't see, he'd always been able to see in the dark, and though he'd never been one for panic it wasn't just cold that gripped his lungs-

and pain, he hurt, a snarling roar tearing from his throat as he staggered, agony tearing through his face, and he squinted, wanting to rub at the hurt, but the shadows tore at him, so he lurched, scrabbling at the stone, trying to find somewhere, anywhere, to force himself into, head throbbing with pain.

By memory, or by blind luck, he stumbled into a crevice--one just big enough to shelter his leonine body.

No sooner had he squeezed inside, perhaps turned around, when the soft whisper of... something... swept past. It would be wise to wait out this night, in silence, in cowering fear--while others died in the dark, in Jasiri's stead.

Something was hunting, in Hydra.

@Jasiri

He almost faceplanted as he found the crevice, worked himself into it as quickly as he could. Jasiri was not a lion of fear, but this... this he feared.

The lion twisted, turned around so he could face the opening only once he had reached the back of the crevice, wanting to have something solid at his back. He rattled, shook in place, eyes wide though he could see nothing - whether that was from the wound or from the darkness he couldn't tell, and licked his paw, reaching up to wipe at the wound.

Jasiri didn't sleep that night.

He hurt, his eye throbbed, and he pressed it against the side of the crevice. Dug his claws into the sand beneath him, shivered and shook and lashed his tail.

But the night passed, noises muted, eerily so, and though he squinted with the eye that remained, the lion didn't move come morning.

The darkness remained cold, oppressive, and most of all, ominous, throughout the night.

It was as though the shadows themselves had come alive, and were hunting. Those muffled sounds, the light frost settling on the cave walls-... and every now and then there was a thrum, a thrill, that rippled through the darkness--as if of triumph.

When it faded hours later it did so abruptly: as if drawn back, like water draining, the light left glimmering weakly in its place.

@Jasiri