Kassandra felt trapped in this gods-forsaken jungle for time immemorial, and yet she knew it was only part of a day. So many contradictions in one statement; indeed, the island, and its plentiful flora, seemed to produce such conflicting questions as its diverse collection of blooms and boughs produced oxygen for their four legged earth-sharing companions— pallid in comparison to the striking greens, reds, yellows, oranges and other such hues-- to breathe. Exploration revealed the jungle went in rings, sparse on the very outer edge like a foal’s whiskers, then very thick just past the precipice; it thinned out again into a collection of clearings and groves a ways in, some dominated entirely by one species of plant, others home to bare earth and gaps in the foliage where sun streamed down to the loamy, volcanic loam and sand-scattered ground. Deeper still it became so thick as to be impenetrable, and yet Kass had a terrible feeling she had to go there.
A mixture of one-part curiosity, one-part fear, and one-part nothing-better-to-do kept the mare moving forward, though her decent-sized bulk was counterproductive to moving carefully through such a dense, plant-rich environment. The going was slow. She placed every pinion down gently so as not to crush or destroy any low-lying flowers, and she constantly had to dodge, lift, or untangle herself from looping vines or dangling clusters of sticky moss. There were green stains scattered all over her midnight-blue pelt, the star-like markings scattered over her rump and midsection glistening with sweat, and her hair was accidentally adorned with leaves and stray petals, sticks and segments of vines, some oozing powerful-smelling, thick and sticky sap. She kept her mane cropped short for reasons of ease of grooming, but even her abrupt curls were stuck and crusting in certain spots.
It was a peculiar sensation to be walking on land touched— no, further still, created by— a god and yet to feel so distant from their heavenly bodies. Kassandra was a newcomer to Novus, relatively, and so she was not entirely versed on all the deities native to the land (the thought produced a subconscious tugging deep in her stomach. She attributed it to thirst). Her homeland, Furae, had no gods save what two coins could be rubbed together; certainly now it had no gods, as Kassandra was sure it was still a sulfuric, seeping mess, like a wound gone septic and burst. The thought of rotting bodies falling into crevasses in the earth made her shudder and cringe.
A rancid smell met her nostrils and the images of her dead homeland were pushed from her mind, replaced with the sudden and overwhelming urge to vomit. “Oculos,” Kassandra said flatly, letting her head hang low to the earth. From the shade of the trees beside her the lithe form of her sighthound companion skipped like a jaunty shadow, tongue lolling from his mouth, stained a multitude of colors from the ripe, sugar-sweet fruit he had been imbibing on along the way. Though his eyes were a mite better than his snout, his sense was still good enough to detect a poorly core, or something toxic to the body, and therefore had been snacking only on the tender sweetness of a good, tropical bounty. His fur— black with white forepaws, and dotted with star-spots, as well— was also sticky with sap, fruit juice, clinging clematis-like tendrils, and dusted with the rancid, rotten-flesh smelling pollen of a grove of disgusting flowers he’d had a roll in earlier.
(‘Not having any fun?’) the Borzoi jeered, speaking the way an adult would to a young child disillusioned by something they had been warned against. (‘Well, I’m having a grand time.’)
“You don’t keep getting stuck on everything,” Kassandra pointed out, a pouting tone coming into her voice. To demonstrate, she lifted her head slightly, and had to snort a low-hanging, gossamer spiderweb from her nostrils.
(‘Well, I am not stupid big, like you,’) Oculos said, laughingly. He pawed his bonded companion gently in good-natured apology. (‘It is gods-damned hot though. I thought I smelled water a bit back but couldn’t be sure. I could use a drink that isn’t full of sugar.’)
“And a bath,” Kassandra added. Oculos showed his teeth and lashed his tongue. He wove himself under her and through her front legs— she yelped and winced as she was sure some of the disgusting pollen rubbed off on her— and strode further into the jungle.
(‘Follow me, then.’)
Kass sighed heavily. “Did you forget the part where it’s hard for me to fit?” she called, but begrudgingly followed, again doing her best to disturb the environment as little as she could.
Oculos came to the pool first, pushing through some large, dagger-leaved shrubs a ways away from the water’s lip. He discovered it, and Septimus, and sat his long, slightly curved body down delicately, long, fluffy tail wrapping around his feet like a perched feline. Though his and Kassandra’s relationship may not have been as fuzzy and overflowing with gooey love as some other Bonded and their equine, he was still very protective of her— which meant being naturally suspicious of strangers, because Kassandra, bless her heart, had a hole filled with loneliness where her common sense should go.
To Oculos, everyone was a stranger.
(‘There’s someone here,’) he called back over his shoulder, the noise escaping like a long, low whine. His pant shortened considerably, and he peered at Septimus with his large, high-set, dark eyes.
“Oh?” Kassandra nickered back, finally pressing through into the clearing with a new collection of leaves, vines, decapitated flowers, and fuzzy, floating seeds, pressed to her face, mane, and neck. “There are more horses here than I’ve met on the mainland— ah! Antlers!” She blinked wide with wonder, pushing past Oculos— who nipped gently at her hide to get her to wait back behind him, a useless gesture— and coming slightly round the pool, which she ignored completely, to stare up at the stranger’s (rather impressive) rack. “And I thought I had trouble walking through here! How do you not have whole trees dangling from you by now?”
A mixture of one-part curiosity, one-part fear, and one-part nothing-better-to-do kept the mare moving forward, though her decent-sized bulk was counterproductive to moving carefully through such a dense, plant-rich environment. The going was slow. She placed every pinion down gently so as not to crush or destroy any low-lying flowers, and she constantly had to dodge, lift, or untangle herself from looping vines or dangling clusters of sticky moss. There were green stains scattered all over her midnight-blue pelt, the star-like markings scattered over her rump and midsection glistening with sweat, and her hair was accidentally adorned with leaves and stray petals, sticks and segments of vines, some oozing powerful-smelling, thick and sticky sap. She kept her mane cropped short for reasons of ease of grooming, but even her abrupt curls were stuck and crusting in certain spots.
It was a peculiar sensation to be walking on land touched— no, further still, created by— a god and yet to feel so distant from their heavenly bodies. Kassandra was a newcomer to Novus, relatively, and so she was not entirely versed on all the deities native to the land (the thought produced a subconscious tugging deep in her stomach. She attributed it to thirst). Her homeland, Furae, had no gods save what two coins could be rubbed together; certainly now it had no gods, as Kassandra was sure it was still a sulfuric, seeping mess, like a wound gone septic and burst. The thought of rotting bodies falling into crevasses in the earth made her shudder and cringe.
A rancid smell met her nostrils and the images of her dead homeland were pushed from her mind, replaced with the sudden and overwhelming urge to vomit. “Oculos,” Kassandra said flatly, letting her head hang low to the earth. From the shade of the trees beside her the lithe form of her sighthound companion skipped like a jaunty shadow, tongue lolling from his mouth, stained a multitude of colors from the ripe, sugar-sweet fruit he had been imbibing on along the way. Though his eyes were a mite better than his snout, his sense was still good enough to detect a poorly core, or something toxic to the body, and therefore had been snacking only on the tender sweetness of a good, tropical bounty. His fur— black with white forepaws, and dotted with star-spots, as well— was also sticky with sap, fruit juice, clinging clematis-like tendrils, and dusted with the rancid, rotten-flesh smelling pollen of a grove of disgusting flowers he’d had a roll in earlier.
(‘Not having any fun?’) the Borzoi jeered, speaking the way an adult would to a young child disillusioned by something they had been warned against. (‘Well, I’m having a grand time.’)
“You don’t keep getting stuck on everything,” Kassandra pointed out, a pouting tone coming into her voice. To demonstrate, she lifted her head slightly, and had to snort a low-hanging, gossamer spiderweb from her nostrils.
(‘Well, I am not stupid big, like you,’) Oculos said, laughingly. He pawed his bonded companion gently in good-natured apology. (‘It is gods-damned hot though. I thought I smelled water a bit back but couldn’t be sure. I could use a drink that isn’t full of sugar.’)
“And a bath,” Kassandra added. Oculos showed his teeth and lashed his tongue. He wove himself under her and through her front legs— she yelped and winced as she was sure some of the disgusting pollen rubbed off on her— and strode further into the jungle.
(‘Follow me, then.’)
Kass sighed heavily. “Did you forget the part where it’s hard for me to fit?” she called, but begrudgingly followed, again doing her best to disturb the environment as little as she could.
Oculos came to the pool first, pushing through some large, dagger-leaved shrubs a ways away from the water’s lip. He discovered it, and Septimus, and sat his long, slightly curved body down delicately, long, fluffy tail wrapping around his feet like a perched feline. Though his and Kassandra’s relationship may not have been as fuzzy and overflowing with gooey love as some other Bonded and their equine, he was still very protective of her— which meant being naturally suspicious of strangers, because Kassandra, bless her heart, had a hole filled with loneliness where her common sense should go.
To Oculos, everyone was a stranger.
(‘There’s someone here,’) he called back over his shoulder, the noise escaping like a long, low whine. His pant shortened considerably, and he peered at Septimus with his large, high-set, dark eyes.
“Oh?” Kassandra nickered back, finally pressing through into the clearing with a new collection of leaves, vines, decapitated flowers, and fuzzy, floating seeds, pressed to her face, mane, and neck. “There are more horses here than I’ve met on the mainland— ah! Antlers!” She blinked wide with wonder, pushing past Oculos— who nipped gently at her hide to get her to wait back behind him, a useless gesture— and coming slightly round the pool, which she ignored completely, to stare up at the stranger’s (rather impressive) rack. “And I thought I had trouble walking through here! How do you not have whole trees dangling from you by now?”
