Don't paint wonderful lies on me that wash away
Tigers did not belong under ground. The walls that pressed down on the tunnels and caves had the look of a cage, of bars and locks and barriers that prevented her from seeing the sky. The weight of the earth, that so many of her kin apparently found comforting, appeared as a looming threat over her head. Just waiting to come down, too suddenly and too heavily to escape.
In the gloom of the tunnels the tiger's white fur reflected the light of magma streams and melting steel until it fairly glowed. There was a tension laced through her, pace kept up into a jog that might escalate into a sprint at any moment. Mouth hanging open, the breath came in short, agitated gasps; and when a swamp rat scuttled across her path she swiped at it with a heavy paw, so that it was sent squeaking into the shadows. It didn't satisfy her. Nothing did. Maea had fled into the tiger's guise hoping that it would chase off her own thoughts. But this time it didn't work.
Ahead, the tunnel opened up into a vast space. At first she felt a rush of relief just to find the ceiling opening up above her; dragging down a deep breath she followed the walls up, up, hoping to see some light stream down from a crack, or crevice. No such luck. What should have been a cascading fall of fresh, clean water instead clogged her throat with the stench of blood. It was everywhere; dripping from the walls, hovering in the air like a thin red mist, and before she'd gotten more than a few paces into the cavern, her fur was taking on a red sheen that made the hairs clump together.
Disappointment soured the taste in her mouth. Turning her golden gaze from the foul display, Maea kept going; maybe there was something else to find if she just pressed on. Something beautiful and clean and fresh - that didn't make her feel worse than she already did.
In the gloom of the tunnels the tiger's white fur reflected the light of magma streams and melting steel until it fairly glowed. There was a tension laced through her, pace kept up into a jog that might escalate into a sprint at any moment. Mouth hanging open, the breath came in short, agitated gasps; and when a swamp rat scuttled across her path she swiped at it with a heavy paw, so that it was sent squeaking into the shadows. It didn't satisfy her. Nothing did. Maea had fled into the tiger's guise hoping that it would chase off her own thoughts. But this time it didn't work.
Ahead, the tunnel opened up into a vast space. At first she felt a rush of relief just to find the ceiling opening up above her; dragging down a deep breath she followed the walls up, up, hoping to see some light stream down from a crack, or crevice. No such luck. What should have been a cascading fall of fresh, clean water instead clogged her throat with the stench of blood. It was everywhere; dripping from the walls, hovering in the air like a thin red mist, and before she'd gotten more than a few paces into the cavern, her fur was taking on a red sheen that made the hairs clump together.
Disappointment soured the taste in her mouth. Turning her golden gaze from the foul display, Maea kept going; maybe there was something else to find if she just pressed on. Something beautiful and clean and fresh - that didn't make her feel worse than she already did.
