Fiona was cleaning up the kitchen when it became dark outside, the rain coming suddenly and forcefully, pounding against the roof of her small home that she had once shared with her father. She had been baking, and the maple bars were resting on the stove cooling while she busied herself scrubbing bowls and setting spoons out to dry. The lavender girl thought the rain would ebb eventually, but it proved her wrong when it continued throughout the day without letting up. It didn’t take long for the water to gather, covering sloped streets and filling depressions in the ground.
As the rains continued, so the water began to rise. The first sign of danger that Fiona saw was the animals seemingly fleeing from the swamp. She could only assume the bogs had risen considerably, drowning any dry ground there may have been. They arrived alone and some in droves. When she opened her door, perhaps driven by the smell of baked goods, many small creatures raced through the doorway and made themselves at home, shivering under furniture and in corners. A few made their way into her kitchen and began eating the food they could find. Fiona couldn’t find it in herself to shoo them away, only able to imagine the fear they felt.
She didn’t notice the fox that snuck in on her heels as she turned back to her home, lingering in the shadows as it was, until she set about lighting candles with which to better see by. It wasn’t until she stepped too close that she heard the distinct chattering sound. When the girl looked down, she saw the fox, teeth bared and fur bristling. For a moment she was startled, until she noticed the smaller bodies hiding behind the much larger adult. Kits. A mother seeking shelter for her family had stumbled into Fiona’s occupied home and, among her fear of the storm, was cornered and threatened (despite the fact that Fiona had no intention of harming the small family).
She wasn’t expecting the fox to lunge for her ankles, and Fiona reared back suddenly, unsteadily. Shifting her weight to keep her balance, she felt her hip bump into something. A table, she thought. But the resulting clattering sound had her whipping her head around, and she watched helplessly as the candlestick rocked, tipped and landed on the ground. The fire caught on the rug and spread quickly, more quickly than she could have ever imagined possible. It engulfed the rug in mere seconds it seemed, cutting her off from the only door to her small cottage.
For as few moments as it took for the fire to grow, it took even less for chaos to erupt in the rest of her home. All the animals who had tried to take shelter began to scream, their alarmed, frightened calls drowning out the crackling of the flames. Fiona looked at the fire, its flickering light casting strange shadows on the walls and over the furniture and she didn’t know how to react. She had never before in her life regretted her inability to speak than in that moment, unable to call for help if anyone were even out there and able to hear her. She turned to the kitchen as the heat of the fire licked at her heels, singing the hairs in her braided tail. In her mind, all she saw was the large window over the table.
As the rains continued, so the water began to rise. The first sign of danger that Fiona saw was the animals seemingly fleeing from the swamp. She could only assume the bogs had risen considerably, drowning any dry ground there may have been. They arrived alone and some in droves. When she opened her door, perhaps driven by the smell of baked goods, many small creatures raced through the doorway and made themselves at home, shivering under furniture and in corners. A few made their way into her kitchen and began eating the food they could find. Fiona couldn’t find it in herself to shoo them away, only able to imagine the fear they felt.
She didn’t notice the fox that snuck in on her heels as she turned back to her home, lingering in the shadows as it was, until she set about lighting candles with which to better see by. It wasn’t until she stepped too close that she heard the distinct chattering sound. When the girl looked down, she saw the fox, teeth bared and fur bristling. For a moment she was startled, until she noticed the smaller bodies hiding behind the much larger adult. Kits. A mother seeking shelter for her family had stumbled into Fiona’s occupied home and, among her fear of the storm, was cornered and threatened (despite the fact that Fiona had no intention of harming the small family).
She wasn’t expecting the fox to lunge for her ankles, and Fiona reared back suddenly, unsteadily. Shifting her weight to keep her balance, she felt her hip bump into something. A table, she thought. But the resulting clattering sound had her whipping her head around, and she watched helplessly as the candlestick rocked, tipped and landed on the ground. The fire caught on the rug and spread quickly, more quickly than she could have ever imagined possible. It engulfed the rug in mere seconds it seemed, cutting her off from the only door to her small cottage.
For as few moments as it took for the fire to grow, it took even less for chaos to erupt in the rest of her home. All the animals who had tried to take shelter began to scream, their alarmed, frightened calls drowning out the crackling of the flames. Fiona looked at the fire, its flickering light casting strange shadows on the walls and over the furniture and she didn’t know how to react. She had never before in her life regretted her inability to speak than in that moment, unable to call for help if anyone were even out there and able to hear her. She turned to the kitchen as the heat of the fire licked at her heels, singing the hairs in her braided tail. In her mind, all she saw was the large window over the table.
There's a lot happening here but at least she has an out if nobody rescues her?
