Sa'ajid tariqa aw asna' wahida.
3-3-3 OC

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Common Arabic emotional actions thoughts

The last thing Kheza remembered was the cold iron biting into his skull.

He had been lying pinned in the crimson-stained sand of his home, the world tilting precariously on its axis. He couldn't move; the arrow lodged straight between his eyebrows had missed the vital centers of his brain just enough to leave him trapped, agonizingly conscious, while his body bled out into the dust. Through a blur of red and gray, he watched the horrific slaughter of his group play out across the familiar desert terrain. He watched Hati fall, watched the brutal final blow strike her down—a sight that burned itself into Kheza’s retinas as the fading light finally took him, pulling him under into absolute darkness.

Then, his eyes snapped open. A choked, ragged breath tore from his chest as he scrambled backward, paws digging frantically into unfamiliar dunes.

His paw flew to the space between his eyes, bracing for shattered bone and the sickening, sticky heat of the shaft. But there was nothing. No gaping wound, no dripping blood, no broken skull. His forehead was smooth, whole, and completely unblemished beneath his trembling paws.

Yet the agony remained. A violent, phantom pressure throbbed dead-center in his skull, as if the ghost of the iron tip were still wedged deep inside his brain, radiating a sickening heat down the bridge of his snout.

Kheza pushed himself up onto shaking legs, his heavy fur bristle-rough as his orangey-red eyes strained to make sense of his surroundings. Though he was still surrounded by a sea of sand, everything about this place felt completely wrong. The familiar scents of his home territory were entirely absent, replaced by an alien, suffocating stillness under an unknown sky. He spun in a tight, disoriented circle, hyperventilating as the terrifying truth settled in.

He had watched his pack die. He knew he had bled out in the sand. Yet here he was, inexplicably whole in the heart of Mythris, trapped in a sound body while his mind drowned in the horrific memory of Hati’s death and the others. Were any of them here? Did...Did any of them survive that violent attack?

Ya ilahi- ayna ana? Hal.. hal hunak ahad hunak? am anna hadha naw' min al-jahim al-abadi? (oh god- Where am i? Is..Is anyone out there? or is this some, eternal hell?)

Solda was getting big. Not that he had any frame of reference how big he would get, but certain things were getting smaller. His siblings and Benji were still an unattainable height, but Häti... he thought he might get as tall as her one day. He could feel it in his bones...

But, at the very least, he'd gotten big enough to start exploring on his own. He usually didn't feel like it, because he could get enough attention at home from everyone, and into all sorts of mischief, but today, he set off with a goal in mind. He watched for a long time as his mothers and siblings brought home quarry of all sorts, and had gotten awful fixated on the idea. If his siblings could do it, so could he! He'd long outgrown tackling scorpions, after all. Solda wanted a real challenge.

Howevet, as he was trying to pick up a scent, he was promptly distracted by a voice. A stranger's voice. Solda's small eyes narrowed. A stranger? In their home? He didn't think so.

With surprising speed, the badger took off at a jog, tail raised, able to spot the trespasser thanks to a particularly big sand dune, which he struggled to stay atop of. Once he righted himself, Solda glared down at the man with as much ferocity as he could muster. A horrible, grating growl made its way from his throat, despite the stranger's obvious distress.

Who are you, and why are you so close to our home, stranger? He demanded, projecting his voice so he might be heard over the distance separating them.