The sound of freedom stampeding

COLT

I had a vision last night
Horses on the granite plains
That sound of freedom stampeding
Why can't I feel the same?

Admittedly, Torchline has the best ropes around. Sailors might make them for different reasons, but they need the high quality, and after setting up some trade patterns with some of the merchants, she's gotten her lariats fashioned with similar attention to detail. These shopkeeps don't depend on her trade though, it's too low traffic, so they've been steadily hiking the prices up on her for such custom made orders. Enough so that she's gotten fed up and tried a new spot, and today's her first haul with the particular new brand.

Heading out from town for a little warmer weather practice instead of hurrying home to shiver in her boots while slapping some loops at a dummy, Colt directs Biscuit towards a prettier isle. Bright colors in nature usually aren't a positive, but plants get away with it, and Torchline has a habit of being loud in all manner. Wandering across the thin bridge and into the little jungle, Colt sighs with some relief at the humidity that greets her. "Can't find this back home," she mutters aloud, appreciative of the little things, like not having to wear gloves for a while.

They mosey until she spots a passable target—a thicker tree trunk that still stands, though the foliage has withered from it, which leaves the top of it clean to throw a loop. "Standby girl," she says with an affectionate pat to Biscuit's neck while she swings out a loop from the new rope. "Time to see if this is worth a shit," she grunts as she tosses it towards the tree, hauling the slack back so it snaps taut. Biscuit sets back to keep the pressure on, and the excess in Colt's hand gets wrapped around the saddle horn, clear of her thumb. To release the captured tree, she nudges Biscuit forward, removing the tension, and wiggles the rope free with a few slaps to the line. She coils it back up with a speed born of practice, then sends it out again, and again. She gets a feel for it after a bit, and works some of the stiffness out that always comes with the new ones. She's just about to call it quits there and pack it up, satisfied enough, right after she throws this last one.

She's not the only one on this island though, and all the noise of her rope cutting air and hitting bark has attracted the interest of a hungry Mudtiger. Biscuit's unease is the first sign Colt gets, but there's something to be said for the Mudtiger's camouflage and adaptability to this terrain. It's on them a bit too fast for anything but the brief awareness of oh fuck. The second sign Colt gets is the hiss just as it lunges towards them. Her mare rears up, and mid swing of her rope, Colt throws it out at the maw of the beast instead of the tree, more reflex than plan. Worst case scenario, it's a muzzle to buy them some time.

She does have her bow and arrows on the saddle, but not in any easy way to gather with her horse shying out from under her. It's all she can do to sit on her pockets and stick with the maneuvering mount, one hand holding reins and mane, while the other loops some of the rope slack around the saddle horn, figuring maybe the shock of it all would make it think twice.

"Eaaasy," Colt urges of the mare, trying to haul her up, the jungle too dense and hungry for the horse to just crash into and make it out. The mare throws her head in active protest of the directions, quivering with fear and energy, while the Mudtiger thrashes on the end of the line, jaw fighting against the cinch of the lariat. "Fuck."

I've been sipping on a poison
Even on the days I taste it
Run into the same wall
All because I just can't face it

Thalassa

The best way to hunt a predator is to catch them unaware in the middle of their own hunt. Thal's been waiting patiently, the sizzle of her molten lava disguised in the soft crash of the waves against the bony island. Her ears flicker when she hears the Mudtiger begin to move, her paws padding silently to follow at a low crouch. The black and silver of her fur is hard to catch in the shadows of the vibrant foliage, even the glow of her blue eyes seeming to blend into the dangerous environment of bright colors despite how they stand out against the stark ivory of the ground that peeks through greenery and shifting vines. The sentient plants don't reach for her, having already been burned when they tried to wrap a tendril around her hind leg. It's made it that much easier to stalk her prey. 

She can see when it finds a target, pausing as muscles ripple under scales, tongue darting out cross razor sharp teeth like it can already taste its prey, even its spine fins tremble at the tension. This is when its attention is most consumed, the hunt taking every bit of concentration, the perfect opportunity for her to pounce. Her haunches bunch beneath her, eyes narrowing in a moment of suspended anticipation before she leaps, claws outstretched to draw blood. 

But the Mudtiger is lunging for something beyond, her eager claws finding no purchase as it clears the brush into an opening. She pivots and follows with a deep, rumbling growl of frustration, determined to salvage the hunt. Yet when she breaks through, she's greeted by chaos. It's a strange situation she'll have to work though later. For now, she ignores the woman and her horse, tackling the roped beast with another echoing growl. The movement sends lava splattering across the ground, followed by droplets of blood when her claws connect with the Mudtiger's scaled side. Unfortunately, the momentum sends them rolling over a jutting piece of bone that looks like an unnaturally large femur, the sharp spine cutting into her flank as she tumbles under it, the rope pulling taut with the distance.

Bite my tongue, bide my time
Wearing a warning sign

COLT

I had a vision last night
Horses on the granite plains
That sound of freedom stampeding
Why can't I feel the same?

You don't normally rope anything but horses and livestock. It's also normally sent around their throats, the pressure of struggle tightening the loop and cutting off enough air to make continued defiance less ideal for the animal. That, or it winds up over a horn or two, giving you leverage over the head. These are prey animals, and their instinct is to run, and at a certain point they're also liable to give up to the idea of being caught and eaten by the lariat and so they just surrender. Sure, a bull or buffalo might make a desperate run, goring in defense and terror more than intent, but all the other factors are still there, so you just dodge that a little bit and you're golden. You're not supposed to rope a fucking predator.

Colt will reflect on this later, when she's got the time to analyze how badly everything goes to hell and then just keeps sliding through the circles there to reach the core. It starts with the fact her mare isn't broke to stay calm under the pressure of being hunted. Next, it's that Colt leashed the hunter to them, which distracts the beast enough that it's arguing with the tie against its mouth instead of continuing to try to eat them, and that's perhaps the only silver lining in this whole shit show.

The mudtiger snakes its head back and forth in a wild display of strength and fury that keeps snapping the line firm, a fish too big for the reel. Its claws scrabble at it, and awful sounds ripple free, each one making her mare shudder. They maybe could have gotten a handle on things, maybe, except then another fucking monster comes crashing through the brush and slams into the side of the mudtiger.

Biscuit's mind goes right then and there. Colt's is certainly starting to as well, panic setting in like cold water hitting the bottom of a pant leg and crawling up to consume everything with the chill. Her mare twists, a bad angle that sets the cord across her neck and around the other side of the front of the saddle right as the force of the molten tiger colliding with the muddy one snaps the tether so taut that something has to give. Might have been the rope if her merchant had been more dishonest. Instead, it's her horse's balance, because the other part about roping is the horse is only strong in certain directions, and sideways isn't one of them.

Without the forward motion that usually comes with a horse falling, Colt's body isn't shoved clear of the toppling animal, not enough anyway. Her one leg is pinned under Biscuit's side as the mare is yanked over onto the ground. Colt's yell is guttural with fear as much as pain as the weight slams into her—this is a bad fucking position to be in. Biscuit flails, trying and struggling to rise, unable to get clean purchase with the damn rope dragging her across the floor every so often as the mudtiger whirls and snarls at Thalassa, teeth flashing beneath tied down lips. It causes Colt's leg to be repeatedly ground against, and that's what sends her screaming.

There's one meager thread of sane thought still in her head as other senses threaten to overwhelm her instead. She reaches for her free boot, to the knife she keeps tucked inside there, intending to cut this damn rope free and maybe get this horse off her then. That doesn't change the fact she's got two cats to handle once they're up though, and she's positive Biscuit will bolt and leave her empty-handed the moment they rise. She channels as she fights for breath, because damn if she's ever needed help, this is it. In this moment of desperation, she calls on one of the few people she trusts, and there's only one who comes to mind when she needs to feel something other than afraid right now. Vesper, fucking kill them!

I've been sipping on a poison
Even on the days I taste it
Run into the same wall
All because I just can't face it

VESPER

One moment Vesper’s standing barefoot on the Ark’s deck in a loose black sweater, half-lidded eyes tracing the horizon; the next, he’s pulled through a channel that tears light apart. He lands hard on humid earth, the scent of salt and rot crashing into him as Colt’s voice cuts through the haze with a plea that shudders with fear, fierce and raw.

His body reacts before his mind does. Shadows unfurl from his back like a living storm, three inky tendrils cracking through the trees with whipcrack precision. They hit the mudtiger mid-lunge—one piercing its flank, another coiling its throat—and the creature’s roar dissolves into a wet, choking rattle. The impact sends sprays of dirt and iridescent scales raining through the air, the jungle recoiling as if in pain. The third lashes out for the molten tiger with blood on its lips, and that’s when his gaze catches on her, molten and seething, glowing like a forge come to life. Recognition crashes into him as he feels the barest sense of the woman beneath the fur and claws.

"Colt, that isn’t—"

The words barely leave his mouth before the pull of the channel snaps tight again, yanking him backward through the same seam that brought him here.

wake me when it's over
like a bad dream

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

bones, bones, bones, bones, bones, bones, bones, bones, bones, bones, bones, bones, bones, bones.

---

You've encountered the OG random event! This allows you to skip one levelling requirement with the character in this thread. (Unfortunately does not count for characters over level 10, how sad.)

Vesper's attack HITS the mudtiger but MISSES Thalassa (she's alive by 3).

The world's a little blurry,
or maybe it's my eyes,

Her side screams in pain, or maybe that's the woman, or the horse. She's not sure beneath the searing of skin where the sharp spine had cut through. It seems like that might be the biggest of her concerns until the Mudtiger is scrambling away from her, attempting to lunge at something dark and strangely familiar that winks into existence. Getting her own paws under her again, Thal moves to follow, ready to leap after it. 

Lucky for her that she doesn't, because just at that moment, three tendrils of shadows snap through the air to rip the life from the beast with a wet crunch and splattering of scales. Thal doesn't notice the third coming for her until it's nearly too late, the liquid black piercing through her whiskers when she turns her head with a startled cry. A voice cuts through the panic, another name called in a broken warning. 

The only thought running through her mind when she finally takes her next breath is laced with too much fear to be angry. SHIT, that bastard almost killed me!

Thal plants her feet, fighting through the life that flashes in her eyes, then looks to the woman struggling beneath the horse. She would like nothing more than to leave her there to suffer, but Thal recognizes the face, recognizes the fight, and she can't explain why, but she can't do it. Before she can give it another thought, she's shifting, scales lining her from snout to tail tip while large membranous wings unfurl from her side. The horse continues its obnoxious cacophony of high-pitched noises, writhing as it attempts to escape the lyvern that now struggles to hovers above it. 

Her claws wrap around the neck and body of the panicked creature, debating dropping it into the water just to stop the torture. Its wriggling and fighting earn it a few shallow gashes despite her best attempts not to hurt it, and the efforts prove too much for her straining injury to contain for long. The horse escapes her grasp, leaving Thal to drop next to the woman empty handed, shrinking to the knelt form of a petite woman. Her dark curtain of hair falls across her face, igneous horns glinting in the sunlight as she braces a hand against the blood that wells at her side. 

When she finally looks up to assess the situation, it's with a cautious gaze, searching for immediate threats, mortal injuries, and a particular shadowy demigod that she'd like to punch.

the friends I've had to bury
they keep me up at night.

Thalassa

COLT

I had a vision last night
Horses on the granite plains
That sound of freedom stampeding
Why can't I feel the same?

His presence always brings her something—a storm, or relief from it, sometimes both. This time though, she barely registers his arrival, grateful as she'll be for it before long, because plenty is still fucked and he's only part of the solution to her basket of problems. Grimacing and grunting, her fingertips skim over her boot, but she can't quite bend enough around the slope of the horse and the hard ridge of the saddle, which feels so damn unfair when it's almost within reach. Frustrated and hurt, she lays flat back against the ground again as the horse's body drags against her once more, reeled in by the mudtiger and the shove of darkness that sends it flying. The line of rope shivers, then blessedly, finally gives.

It's not the braided material that comes undone, it's the saddle horn that surrenders to all the tension. It's not meant to be a roping saddle—she'd picked a more comfortable one for travel, because when you rope dummies they don't haul your horse around like a goddamn marlin on the line. It's too tall, too narrow, to really handle the anchor of this fight, and the nails that hold the structure to the rest of the saddle very decidedly give up. The horn and the rest of the rope tail whip after the corpse into the mess of the jungle.

Vesper's voice does dimly register, but it lands the way a dream does on waking, too soft and too distant. She can't quite trace all the details, or the meaning, just knows that something nice had been here briefly, and now it's gone. Because she's still pinned, and even though Biscuit is free now, the mare still has to stand and that won't be a pretty affair.

At least, that's what Colt expects, but the weight of the horse pressing in on her is suddenly removed. Her eyes widen up at the spread of wings and talons rising over her like some sort of cursed angel. What the fuck is wrong with this island? She's no idea it's the molten tiger here, actually an Ancient, just assumed the same shadows that cut down the muddy one did the same for the other, the only reason she's still breathing. So this new beast must be some new addition to the fray, each collision drawing the attention of something worse like a Russian nesting doll version of kaijus.

Colt scrambles out from under the removal of her steed, not about to look this gift horse in the mouth. She's got to run before the next, bigger doll appears. Sorry Biscuit, you're the one they all want, it seems.

The idea of sprinting for her life is laughable though, because it's all she can do to even scurry back right now. Adrenaline might be shielding some of the worst still, but it can't keep back all the heat that sears through her the moment she tries to drive that ankle that'd been under the horse into use. "Fuck!" she bites out, teeth clicking against each other with a wince as she keels back over onto her side. She doesn't have time.

Glancing hurriedly to the side to see how far the creature's gotten, it's a shock to find her bloody horse galloping away and a woman in nearly similar state as her on the ground further down. Recognition strikes like a brutal hammer then, and Colt gasps in a ragged breath, pissed as much as relieved. "Peach?!" she demands, sagging into the name with the euphoria that comes when fear subsides, every nerve prickling as it uncoils from its tight state. The fucking miserable woman from the party, who's horns and tails mark the shifts Colt had seen, understanding coming in like waves with each breath and lapping thought. A molten tiger hadn't really made sense for this isle, but her understanding of local flora and fauna had been the last thing on her mind in the thick of it all. "Oh thank fuck," she pants, a shaky hand swiping back the mess of hair that's fallen like a sweaty curtain, her hat somewhere.

I've been sipping on a poison
Even on the days I taste it
Run into the same wall
All because I just can't face it

The world's a little blurry,
or maybe it's my eyes,

She'd just about forgotten the awful nickname the woman had given her, but it comes sharply into her mind as Colt reels with shock. Her eyes take in the galloping horse, scattered pieces of Mudtiger, and finally the rancher sprawled across the ground. No sign of the demigod who had been there moments before - or any other threats that need her immediate attention. 

So Thal sucks in a deep breath, her face tightening against the burn of stretching flesh beneath her hand. She's in a sorry state, a few scrapes and bruises blooming over her body and a single slash across her cheek where she'd almost been murdered. That part is still doing its best to fit into her thoughts, like the last bite of cake that she can't fit into her full stomach without flaring a bout of nausea. But she's almost died before and she refuses to devolve into a panicked mess in front of this woman. 

Placing her feet under her, she stands to close the distance between them, expression carefully controlled as she gives a indicative gesture of her head towards the limb that had been trapped under the steed. "Let me see your leg." It's not sharp, but the tone is used to being followed, offering little room for argument as she crouches next to her on the ivory surface.

the friends I've had to bury
they keep me up at night.

Thalassa

COLT

I had a vision last night
Horses on the granite plains
That sound of freedom stampeding
Why can't I feel the same?

Colt's used to shit going sideways. She's had to think fast on many an occasion to free some panicking animal or guide some mess of a man. She's had to hang on and evacuate fast plenty of times before too, ducking through fences or clambering over them with only a hair's length keeping her safe. However many times she's done all of that though, it doesn't lessen the blow of being caught suddenly in a fucked situation any less—not when the marsh had abruptly frozen her before a giant, hungry toad, and not now when her horse had flipped with fangs nearby ready to devour. It's the being stuck that does it, when all her careful exit plans have suddenly been snuffed out and she's left in the thick of what she knows isn't good, but doesn't feel she has many options left. So the shock of making it through, as much as the physical toll of the injury, lingers on her now with an uneasy tremble.

She'd working her breath through her teeth and her nose in a measured pattern to regain some control of it back as she eases her legs straight, the tension gradually unwinding from the depths of her bones. Her fingers work from her thigh down, exploring the hurt as though it's absent from her. In a way, it still is, hidden by parts of her that didn't want her distracted. At Thalassa's approach, she glances up, head tilting back with the effort to see her from the ground.

She doesn't pretend to be better than she is—not really a fucking point, it's pretty clear it ain't great. Instead she does as told, listening something easy to do right now, nice and simple when everything is a little too hazy and hard otherwise. It's her left ankle, hidden in her boot, but twisted and swollen, and a mattering of bruises up that some leg that haven't made a visible appearance yet. She licks her lips as she shifts it, the line of fire that moves up it causing one eye to narrow in quiet protest.

"Sorry," she murmurs, lower lip caught in a roll of her teeth with a roil of nervousness that comes behind that apology. She exhales steadily, gaze flicking from the woman to the jungle. "I didn't realize you were the other animal, I almost had him kill you." There's a weird sound that comes after that—a laugh, she realizes. Not that anything's very funny, but it's easier to laugh right now than to cry or to scream, and apparently one of those three has to happen when death's on the table. "He realized though, that's what he was tryin' to say before he left, why I'm guessin' you're still breathing." The words come out soft, voice growing weak as she travels away from here and into memory, finding details she didn't know she had because she hadn't been focusing on it when it happened. She glances back towards Thalassa, the weight of what had almost come to pass not lost on her, and her lips thin into something grave.

I've been sipping on a poison
Even on the days I taste it
Run into the same wall
All because I just can't face it

The world's a little blurry,
or maybe it's my eyes,

Her knee digs into the ground, but she ignores it to take in Colt's injury, her own body tense with pain and adrenaline. The apology draws her eyes up, surprised by how easily the word takes form. The laughter is easier to swallow, the hysterics making sense more than the free admission of misunderstanding. It calms some of the anger she was burying, some of the annoyance leaking from her voice as she mutters, "That's what I gathered." She doesn't comment that a Molten tiger is enough of an oddity to warrant pause, not when the woman had already been panicked. Even if Colt had realized it was an Ancient, it didn't guarantee her safety. An Ancient in the throes of bloodlust might have picked her as the easier target, pinned and vulnerable. 

But lucky for her, it was just Thal, and her bloodlust is dampened enough at the moment to control any cannibal urges that might have surfaced. So she doesn't lunge for the scraps of Mudtiger that litter the ground or abandon Colt for her horse that would have been easy prey; she runs her hands along the twisted limb, probing and assessing. It's not gentle or cautious, not the touch of someone who spends her time caring after others. It's the assessing touch of a leader who's seen enough ship injuries to make rudimentary judgement calls on severity and mortality. 

Rough fingers are cradling the boot to reveal the ankle when the next comment hits her. The scoff is out before she can catch it, although the clip of her voice is too raw to be her usual level of rage, laced with a quiet resignation. "No, I doubt recognizing me would have stopped him. The bastard just missed by pure luck." If she'd made one step forward or turned a moment too late, the shadows would have left more than a scratch on her face. The thought still sends icy chills down her veins, the mix of emotions scraping at the control she tries to portray. She doesn't look up, doesn't give Colt the chance to see into the storm of her eyes. It's easier to hide when she focuses on slipping the boot off, followed by the sock to expose the swelling of the joint. 

She honestly doesn't know much beyond the obvious. Colt's leg is twice the size it should be, but the skin is intact, nothing life-threatening. Thal shrugs her shoulders, the motion painfully reminding her of the blood oozing beneath the black fabric of her clothe. She pointedly ignores it as she settles back on her heels and blinks up in blunt analysis. "It might be broken, but if we get you to the fountain, you'll probably be fine."

the friends I've had to bury
they keep me up at night.

Thalassa

COLT

I had a vision last night
Horses on the granite plains
That sound of freedom stampeding
Why can't I feel the same?

Thal moves with a certainty that provides as much steadying force as solid ground. The weight of any decision is one Colt happily crawls out from beneath, preferring to have Thal shoulder it so she's got more room to breathe, just a little longer anyway. It's not the kindness of it, it's the confidence, which brings far more comfort than any fussing would have. Though the quick assessment of the Ancient's hands elicits a hiss where they pass over regions that are damaged, pain snarling up too sudden or strong and forcing itself past Colt's teeth, which she's cinched up behind tight lips. Her own gaze follows the pattern of ruin against her skin, eyes granting shape to the feeling, worsening it in some points for the view, as if the mystery of it all had kept it a little more dull.

It's not just the curt commands or the unwavering sweep of Thal's hands, it's the way she doesn't bow to the apology, that's she's got enough backbone to hold up against it. Sorry doesn't undo anything, and it certainly doesn't make them friends, but for what it's worth, Colt had not wanted Peach dead. Colt can own up to her fuck ups, usually. Gods know she's had the practice, although it's not always easy to admit to, but this one is a snap decision she made to survive and she won't apologize for pulling that trigger ultimately.

The less than kind evaluation of Vesper would have rippled through Colt heavier if it wasn't colliding with the tide of agony at having her boot removed. Her head jerks back, a strangled groan rasping free as her nearest hand clutches at Thalassa's offending arm in instinctual defiance of such continued hurt. She sucks in a breath though, gritting through it as the leather tugs and bites against the swelling, finally giving up her foot with a throb that rolls through her entire body. "Fucking hell," she snaps out, copper gaze dark as it flashes towards the view of her ruined limb.

"Yeah," she mutters, of the condition and the healing, well acquainted with the fountain from her last visit here. "Looks like you could use it too," she mutters, glancing at the blood evident on the woman's side. "Although you look better than last time I saw you." Her lips twist a bit at that, testament to what a shit time Thal had that night. "Do I get your name now, or you like going by Peach?"

She sits a moment with the knowledge of having to get up. She's gathering the strength to do it, knowing it's gonna fucking hurt. "Horse has all my shit on it," she sighs, long and tired, offering some for of explanation and plan. "Can't have gone too far with the state she was in. If you help me collect her, could help us make it back to town. I'll even buy you a round or two of drinks." Maybe the best apology she can actually provide.

I've been sipping on a poison
Even on the days I taste it
Run into the same wall
All because I just can't face it

The world's a little blurry,
or maybe it's my eyes,

She doesn't flinch when Colt grabs her arm, continuing the work in spite of the gripping obstacle thrown forth in pain. It's necessary, a crucial step no matter how painful to complete the cataloguing of the injury, but it doesn't mean she enjoys the pain - she doesn't have a reason to hate Colt like that. Thal might not slow the process or coddle the woman, but she adjusts enough to make it quick and fluid, no unnecessary jostles or prolonged suffering to make it worse than it needs to be. A mercy even if it's not kindness. 

When the boot is off and the moment over, Thal props her elbow on her knee, glancing to where her fingers are coated in blood. "I'm fine." The sting has started to fade into that low burn, one she doesn't want to acknowledge for fear it takes too much of her focus. Especially when she has to focus enough to keep from laughing at the joke, unable to disagree with her. She bites back most of a smile, the smallest glimmer in her eyes giving away the amusement as she finally offers her name, "Thalassa."

As if she hasn't just bridged a gap towards friendliness, Thal stands, looking towards where the horse has sprinted off to. It didn't make it far in the thick brush, plants snagging at its legs, enticed by the trail of blood, but it's still far enough to be annoying. She purses her lips at the foul beast, eyes narrowing over the sour expression. "Fine, but I can't promise the horse will follow me." 

In the blink of an eye and a whisp of smoke, she vanishes, darting in and out of existence to close the distance between her and the horse. It's faster than walking and she suspects her lyvern shift would only push the creature further inland. Not to say her sudden appearance doesn't startle the horse, but at least she's able to grab the reins before it goes crashing into a tree. 

Taking a deep breath, she digs her feet and snarls when it threatens to bolt, "Hush. If I was going to eat you, I would have done it earlier." The horse doesn't calm, but it seems to take the snapping tone as a warning to fall in line. She still has to practically drag the thing towards the coast, her small form doing little against the mass of muscle despite the litany of scratches littering its hide. By the time she makes it to Colt, she's sore and pissy, ready to get far away from the miserable experience. Her eyes dart to the horse like it's personally offended her then gestures her head to Colt. "Let's go."

the friends I've had to bury
they keep me up at night.

Thalassa

COLT

I had a vision last night
Horses on the granite plains
That sound of freedom stampeding
Why can't I feel the same?

There's no audible response to the name, but Colt's features ease a touch at the offering, a sign of something more than dismissal growing. Not that she'd have minded if Peach remained, she's not exactly stumbling through the jungle looking for friendship—helluva lot easier to find it in the bars anyway. She does appreciate the promise in the change though, because Colt can always value someone who values themselves. Maybe it's also something to do with keeping company among so many dogs for so long, but she kinda likes it when there's a lot of teeth on display too.

A grunt and a shrug is all that Thalassa receives in return about the horse, Colt too busy running her own, more careful hand down her leg as if in reassurance it's as fucked as it feels. The answer is still yes. Inhaling deep and shifting to make the transition to her feet as kind as possible, an easier feat now that she knows what's hurt, she is surprised when Thalassa darts off on her own to retrieve the mare. Colt hadn't meant to assign her the task, although it's certainly easier, because by the time Thal's drug Biscuit back, Colt's finally back to standing, boot in hand like a sorry trophy of the whole event.

There's the faintest shape of amusement wearing into place as she watches Thal grumpily match back with a less than helpful horse. It's a certain walk of shame she's done plenty—a pissed off march with a still-balking steed. Unlike the usual reasons for such a strut though, Biscuit did the best she could with what she'd been provided, not that it didn't change the fact she had to be retrieved. "Thanks," she says low and in passing, like it's just a simple thing, while she takes back her horse and swings into the saddle, a bit awkward as she has to do it from the right side, which isn't the usual, and she lifts her left leg high in the arch to ensure it doesn't smack anything along the way. Biscuit's trembling and bleeding, but it'd take them ages with Colt limping along, so they'll just have to make due in their sorry state. Colt offers Thal to hop on too if she'd rather not shift or walk, but one way or another, they depart this fucked up jungle and head for the fountain.

[FIN]

I've been sipping on a poison
Even on the days I taste it
Run into the same wall
All because I just can't face it