P a n g a e a
broken your servant I kneel
it seems what's left of my human side
is slowly changing in me
It was an odd feeling to know that someone out there was looking out for her. Not since Rex, or Jurassic, or the Raptor pack had she ever felt quite so . . . important? Certainly not since coming to this land, where she was an obscure outsider, an oddity to be noticed, but nothing more. A passing glimmer of curiosity before something new would enflame a stranger's interest, and Pangaea was once more an outsider in an unfamiliar world.
It was likely the reason she still had no understanding of this world. The magic here was odd, unfamiliar. She couldn't comprehend how it came to be. The same with the oddness of the creatures, which they kept close to. Like why were an elk and a horse of all things were pack? None of it made any sense, and the longer she struggled to understand, the more out of place, a stranger in a strange land, she continued to feel. She didn't understand. Her mind is still locked firmly in the fight to survive, kill or be killed, defend and protect. The essential, most critical components of survival were all she had to go off of - and in the continued confusing situation, unfamiliar landscapes, those survival instincts were ramped up, especially with her injury.
She had no other way of life to lean towards, learn from, and without a guiding hand to show her the course of this world, she had no reason to change her own archaic, prehistoric caveman way of life. She wasn't civilized enough for the herds. She wasn't predator enough for the beasts. And her constant swaying to find a place to perch had her tittering dangerously on a small ledge that led to her doom. And then Gareth had arrived, and where at first she thought he would be the slipping point, the point where she'd fall from the ledge into a dark spiral, instead he was slowly crafting a bridge, a bridge spanning the chasm between her ridge and civilization, a promise to something better. It looked sturdy enough, but she couldn't help but fear that with each step she took towards that bridge, she would see the shift in his features. She would notice the missing nail, the loose board, the point where the bridge became her tomb. A trick to kill the beast.
His pack member likely would have approved of such actions. Even now, she could feel a sense of unease about the way the elk watched her as if he was waiting for her to slip, for her to tumble down, prove she was the predator he assumed she was. A predator - was that all he saw in her? Was that all either saw in her. Even as the days had passed, and the stallion would fetch her small animals, the offerings like encouragements for her to close the gap, to step onto that too-good-to-be-true bridge, she couldn't help but wonder, deep down did she disturb him, disgust him? A monster wearing the guise of a mare.
So she kept that distance intact, but she knew the next part of their journey would be the real struggle. That distance was easy to obtain between them when she flew, and he walked. But she knew trails, she knew mountains - not these ones, no, but she knew. Those required close quarters required trust. She was already putting her very survival into his large hooves, but why did this make it seem more real. She slowed her descent, and she was relieved when he stopped, trying to give her as much room as she needed as she landed. It was almost . . . cute, the way he seemed to be so concerned about such trivial things. She'd been flying all her life since she was a hatchling, chasing after small bugs and snapping them up in little jaws. Those tiny morsels were the only reason she and her brother had survived from their hatchings, as their parents had abandoned them relatively early.
She hated how she didn't land proudly, her legs buckling, and she had to control her own emotions to pretend she was alright, reassuring him, before looking at him in surprise when he chuckled at her, shaking his head. She shot him a look, righting herself, taking the time to test her strength before approaching. Was he growing . . . familiar with her? Certainly not. He barely knew her. Why would he have any sort of emotion beyond the horror and disgust from when she'd almost killed his pack member?
While she fought to understand why he'd chuckled at her, why he found her amusing, why he'd care at all about her demeanors, he was taking the time to observe the mountains, the shadow and clouds she'd mentioned. Her inner monologue of confusion halted when he spoke about the storms being bad, and her gaze turned towards him, amber eyes widening faintly in alarm, uncertainty for another obstacle she wasn't familiar with, "How bad . . . is bad, Gareth?" His name felt so unfamiliar on her tongue. Not wrong, but different. Different, new, like much of what he was pushing her into. Not bad, not wrong . . . just new, just different. Just . . . scary.
Some great predator she really was. But, then again, that was the point, wasn't it? She had to remind herself again; they both saw her as some scary predator. They didn't know she wasn't. That she would turn into a little filly, bubbling with excitement as soon as berries began to plump up on wild bushes. How she melts when offered an apple. That she would eagerly give her left-wing for a bushel of sweet corn. That she wasn't all blood, macabre hunger, and destruction. She turns away from his gaze, necklaces clinking together from where the gold and amber jewelry shifted as she turned a little more quickly than she should have to look fully at the mountain.
Whatever was starting to happen her was weird, and unusual, and . . . sure, she could be thankful he was helping her, but that was all. There didn't need to be anything else here. It was unnecessary. "What should I expect, if we are caught in a bad storm?" She finally asks, putting all of her attention back onto the learning about the situation she may find as they hiked the mountain. It was pointless for her to attempt to figure out this situation. He was merely helping her to heal and survive the winter. Then they would go separate ways, he'd do whatever he'd been doing before . . . she'd be alone again in the plains, in the desert, where ever she could find a quiet place to hole up. Alone . . . even just the past few days made that thought painful. A pack animal didn't enjoy being alone. They weren't made to be alone. A pack hunted, lived, breathed, existed as a unit. These months on her own had been . . . painful.
She jumps when he turns to the elk and suddenly speaks as if the elk had said something. Her gaze is confused, alarmed as he approaches the elk pulls it close in some sort of affectionate gesture she assumed. Her expression was still puzzled as he turned back to her, explaining that the elk had decided to go his own route. "Wait, wait, wait, it spoke to you? He didn't even open his mouth? How could it have spoken to you." Sure, she thought they might be pack, but this is NOT what she'd be expecting. Gareth was already moving towards a well-worn and rugged path, her gaze sweeping it, even as her ears perked towards him for an explanation. She didn't dare voice her confusion about the odd affectionate gesture that she certainly had no familiarity of. Affection between her and her brother had been bringing a snack to each other when they managed to find extra. When she'd been with Rex, it was in silent communications, brief looks. Nothing physical like whatever the hell that had been.
She chases the confusion from her mind. She was living a life of solitude here anyway, once winter ended, she and Gareth would part ways, and she'd go back to being alone. Why bother learning about the odd affectionate gestures . . . it's not like she'd have any purpose for them. So instead, she followed him along the trail, shooting him looks as soon as she noticed his attempts to even out the ground - clearing stones and branches, "My species nest in mountains, I can walk over branches and stones myself." She finally states, her voice not disapproving, just confused again. Why did he keep trying to be so helpful? She was just a stranger, a predator, after all. "I won't slow you down, so you don't need to worry about me." She added, suddenly wondering if that was what was behind his actions. Worry that she would be a burden, slow them down to being caught in the approaching storm, and felt he needed to lessen the risk of her being burdensome? Somehow, though, he didn't strike her the type to think of another soul as burdensome. Not with how attentive he was.
"Speech"
Thoughts
@Gareth
Notes: I'm so excited.
when suddenly it changes
violently it changes
there is no turning back now
you've woken up the demon in me
