Post by Magda on Aug 11, 2011 18:17:45 GMT -5
((This entire section looked really lonely, so here's a post to cheer it up.))
She knew the dangers of the swamp; it was nothing but a vast expanse of boggy marshland, peppered by pockets of tar pits. Should she get her paw stuck, then that was it for her. She was a goner.
However, as she stopped and sniffed the skull of an Angel that poked out of the top of the tar pit beside her, this was a far greater hazard to Angels who couldn't smell the difference between tar and marshland than to creatures like her who could. It was a far more dangerous place for the natives, which was odd, considering that the forest behind her had done nothing but try to eat her.
Sadly, that wasn't even a metaphor. One second she'd been walking along, looking out for giant flying Roc, and the next second she'd promptly shat a brick and was screaming "Holy shit!" as a giant plant that looked like a Venus flytrap leaned in towards her, grinning toothily before opening wide. It was a damn good thing it had bright red, glowing leaves, or else she might not have seen it in time to cleave the damn thing in two and scarper.
Now in wolf form, with her bag wound around her neck and body like a harness, she prowled the swamp, head low, sniffing here and there to carefully navigate the bog and avoid the tar pits. She stuck to the rockier areas and only paused when she was sure the ground below here wasn't going to sink and swallow her whole.
Leaping up onto a high rock that jutted out from the swamp below, Magda sat down for a few moments, surveying the surrounding area carefully. Behind her was the Ash'dra Forest, a treacherous, crappy bit of geography that she'd already survived. And even as she stared back at the shadow of the vines and trees, something unnatural called for its own species, and the sound echoed across the vast silence of the New Realm.
Magda turned away, and as her eyes caught the moonlight, the tapetum lucidum at the back of her retinas flashed milky green, betraying powerful night vision. The eyeshine was quickly gone, however, when she turned her head, and she stared out in the other direction, out towards the Razor Flats.
She would have thought she was far out of New York and in some kind of fantasy world if, at that very second, it hadn't started snowing. Magda tipped back her head and sniffed at the air as the flakes floated down. Some settled on her nose and melted, while others got caught in her fur. So there was no mistaking it; she was sitting in a swamp, in the middle of New York.
It certainly didn't feel like home.
She knew the dangers of the swamp; it was nothing but a vast expanse of boggy marshland, peppered by pockets of tar pits. Should she get her paw stuck, then that was it for her. She was a goner.
However, as she stopped and sniffed the skull of an Angel that poked out of the top of the tar pit beside her, this was a far greater hazard to Angels who couldn't smell the difference between tar and marshland than to creatures like her who could. It was a far more dangerous place for the natives, which was odd, considering that the forest behind her had done nothing but try to eat her.
Sadly, that wasn't even a metaphor. One second she'd been walking along, looking out for giant flying Roc, and the next second she'd promptly shat a brick and was screaming "Holy shit!" as a giant plant that looked like a Venus flytrap leaned in towards her, grinning toothily before opening wide. It was a damn good thing it had bright red, glowing leaves, or else she might not have seen it in time to cleave the damn thing in two and scarper.
Now in wolf form, with her bag wound around her neck and body like a harness, she prowled the swamp, head low, sniffing here and there to carefully navigate the bog and avoid the tar pits. She stuck to the rockier areas and only paused when she was sure the ground below here wasn't going to sink and swallow her whole.
Leaping up onto a high rock that jutted out from the swamp below, Magda sat down for a few moments, surveying the surrounding area carefully. Behind her was the Ash'dra Forest, a treacherous, crappy bit of geography that she'd already survived. And even as she stared back at the shadow of the vines and trees, something unnatural called for its own species, and the sound echoed across the vast silence of the New Realm.
Magda turned away, and as her eyes caught the moonlight, the tapetum lucidum at the back of her retinas flashed milky green, betraying powerful night vision. The eyeshine was quickly gone, however, when she turned her head, and she stared out in the other direction, out towards the Razor Flats.
She would have thought she was far out of New York and in some kind of fantasy world if, at that very second, it hadn't started snowing. Magda tipped back her head and sniffed at the air as the flakes floated down. Some settled on her nose and melted, while others got caught in her fur. So there was no mistaking it; she was sitting in a swamp, in the middle of New York.
It certainly didn't feel like home.