there is no concept of kindness from jutting claws and sharpened teeth. she is tense, the beating filling her palm as the fingers slowly drag and tuck in a spider's death curl. there is mistrust under her brow, as she stares at the predator offering a name.

her own jaws open, to give back, and the name which the lips shape themselves for is heavy with history, with right and position.

yet, when she tries to speak it, only a puff of vapor leaves her mouth.

with rising panic she once again comes to realize something's absent. the fist on her chest is bounced by the heart. she breathes sharp, obvious, while her vision doubles, and between her left and right eyeballs, she thinks that's a man she sees, wild-haired and hunched, seated on the ground before her, eyes like aegyptus powder.

and then the laws impose themselves, and she is only a fearful beast, at the mercy (or mockery?) of another.

she whispers into the densing mist;

have i ever been?, and the hot air steals it away.

aghast. in the span of a blink the dull wakes are replaced by vibrancy - the landscape explodes across her vision, blue and ochre so bright they impale the pupils. have her flinch. have her gasp.

the lungful banishes the chill from her interior. the dizziness that follows is mistaken for buoyancy -

she'll float! she'll float!

-and to avert dropping into the heavens, she retreats to hold onto the trunk--

but there's nothing behind.

furred back meets warm ground, pushing a scared hoot out. she spasms. twenty fingers dig into the sands, clutching. clenching. preventing. the caged dancer finds a rapid rhythm.

rise and fall rise and fall -- her breathing is fast and shallow.

and the sky is the blue of a predator's eyes.

it is too hot.

the grains her fingers dig into scald her - little pinpricks of heat. although, not enough to have her let go. far more oppressive is the sun, slowly climbing past the lower rim of her vision. sweat dampens her brow.

edepol (by pollux), has she done something to offend? is this her punishment? worse than all is how her head aches, a thrumming pain building up the more she tries to reason away what's happened.

where is she? who has done this to her?

the more she thinks, the worse her pain. and yet there is nothing to do but squint the eyes, furrow the face and clench fists and feet.

the wolf-man. were he, perhaps, a

the spearpoints frame the sun for the second it takes for the shadow to cover her.

she blinks. the black shape is unrecognizable. it confounds her two ways.

it isn't until she hears a snort than she remembers to be startled.

flailing, hooting, kicking up sand, she manages to scamper a length away. the shape had intruded from the back of her head, and so she has to turn to see it in the light.

quick, shallow breaths bob her shoulders up and down. all-brown eyes are wide with panic. there's no comprehension of the animal she's seeing.

she is panicking.

beast body arranges itself defensively, the neck craning manic to track the circling enemy.

but within the skull, laws do their work. a compromise made. evidence erased - but she's the time to blurt;

how do you know demotic?

and is left confused at her own words.

the animal stands proud. two horns banded with gold. its face painted stark black against white fur.

the word which surfaces to the forefront is goat.

and yet she knows two ways that isn't true.

it speaks confidently. arrogantly. the words which pepper its speech are foreign - but she knows them.

how - no.

she catches the side of her head, eyes shutting tight at the sideways stab of pain. would have been worse, she knows.

there is something wrong with her.

when her eyes open, the warm snout of the beast is a breath away.

isis. hemet. pharaoh. em hotep nefer.

the pain will worsen if she tries to think on it. so she says what is easiest;

... i don't remember. her palm slides off her head. falls limp in her lap.

please. where am i?

her gaze has drooped. the pain subsided. in its place - lethargy. and it is the calmest she's ever known herself to be.

words pull her head up, swaying in a small circle. there's the imprint of indignation within.

baboon. she repeats, flatly. the not-goat talks on.

his words bring discomfort. the pain cannot pierce her current state, even as she idly wonders at the titles. that is good. she likes that.

and at his offer, she blinks slowly. out of sync.

... why'd i wanna leave? her speech slurs. her swaying obvious. is so nice here. warm.

two fistfuls of sand are grabbed. fists lifted, she lets the grains spill over her.

waaarm.

it's nice.

the sun is the kindest creature she's ever met.

even as her exposed skin heats to sunburns.