Meadowlark Prairie mirage

for @Cash

She has left behind the cliffs and moved into more accessible lands, ones that would have stretched greenly in all directions before her had not the plague descended upon them. It is a slim and pale creature that moves confidently across the darkness of the destruction wrought upon this world, and she pauses in the remains of a meadow to hunt. Her first two attempts are fruitless; she draws up in anger and lies in the shadow of a wilted bush to pant and to rest, attempting to stifle the gnaw of hunger in her belly.

This place was empty too, damned by the hand of an angry god, swarmed with what seemed like a blight as widespread as a Biblical plague. It’s been days, and now Cash is starting to get hungry. The rangy man is used to lean weeks—living without the security blanket of a pack made you used to such things—but now not even his iron nerve is saving him from the steadily increasing hunger pangs. The remains of what had once been a meadow seemed like a good idea, as maybe some small prey was still lingering around, but it ended up being a fool’s errand to come this way as well. Nothin’. Nothin’ but regret and sour frustration. Maybe he should rethink his little self-imposed challenge and get the hell out of this place before it claims more of him than he was willing to give up.
 
So he reverts to default, which is aimless wandering. A lot could happen when you weren’t necessarily expecting it—he could fill books with all the stories of trouble he’d gotten into through that selfsame happenstance. He didn’t think he’d be lucky enough to have a rabbit or vole or something scurry out into his path, but in the end he’s given a different type of fortune. The winds change, informing him of another wolf nearby. Something was better than nothing, and jawing kept his mind off of hunger. So he goes.
 
With as little ground cover as there was, his approach would be fairly obvious, all the way down to the easy nature of it. Cash’s gait was an easy lope, lips curled into a genial smile. He sits down a respectable distance away, maintaining a nonchalance that matched the stranger’s prone position. His jaw lifts a bit as he considers a greeting but he ends up flashing a chipped-tooth smile, giving a few gravely chuckles before saying in a deep, drawling voice, “I was gonna ask what the matter was, but that’s pretty obvious, ain’t it?”

sorry about the awful first post ;;

Hatshepsut has begun to doze in the heat, if only to escape the clawing of her belly, but at the approach of another, her lapis eyes reopen to take in the form of a man sitting not far away. He is comprised of ash and blood-colours, and his tones are a deep and syrupy drawl. The man is a welcome distraction from the few locusts that litter the dust here and there, and she raises herself to a half-lying position, unperturbed by his nearness.

The woman is used to the brazenness of men -- she had dealt with it as a child, as the Blessed One, even as Regent of Karnak. And so she is unsurprised by the smile tossed her way, the familiarity with which the man addresses her.

Crossing one fore-ankle over another, Hatshepsut does not immediately answer, her eyes cool as she studies him for a long moment, attempting to divine his intentions. Sensing no malice in the man, her gaze softens almost impercetibly. "Quite. But they will not remain for long," she rejoins quietly, her tones accented with tinges of lotus and desert.

Nonsense!

 

Sleep was somewhat insidious when hunger began to overtake someone. It was tempting. A blessed reprieve from the animal of emptiness tearing at your stomach. But while sleeping certainly didn’t take as much energy as wandering about awake, it wasn’t nearly as productive. Fortune could stumble across you when you were out on the roam; it very rarely did when you were dead to the world. So even when the going got tough, Cash liked to keep his body moving. It kept his endurance up, even though it was painful, and it carved out new opportunities—even though he hadn’t stumbled across any here yet.
 
Except stumbling across this woman, though that would do nothing to ease the emptiness of his stomach (he was not, unlike the other woman he had spoken to, quite ready to steep to eating his own kind just yet). Even after noticing him she remains lying down—it means she’s confident being alone with a stranger, which means Cash will keep a careful eye. He was an easygoing man, and he generally liked to handle himself with words rather than physicality, but that didn’t mean he was stupid enough to be naïve. She’s watching him too, closely, with an acuity that he’s beginning to perceive.
 
Interesting. But she wouldn’t read him. Cash was a sly one—he made himself appear like an open book, but he made sure all the words were wrong.
 
“They?” Her accent was peculiar, though he guesses he’s not one to talk. She might be from just as far away as he was, or perhaps he was just not as aware of the local tongues as he’d thought. “You meanin’ these?” He flicks the husk of a locust resting near his forepaw; it scatters away into a clump of twisted chaparral. “If so,” looking back up, shaking his head with gravity, “it’s the time after they’re gone that you have to worry most about.”

He closes. She does not see this so much as sense it, but ceases her prying, for she knows it will turn over no new earth. Instead, Hatshepsut leans into his slow drawl, finding it pleasant and comforting in this odd time. Within her belly hunger flares, but the woman is implacable. "They will bring famine, and famine will bring war," she agrees. When wolves starved, fangs were bared, and lawlessness came to rule.

She cannot help but eye the man thoughtfully. "You do not seem leaner," comes the woman's dry voice, but there is the hint of a jest there, if he is inclined to find it. The Regent surveys the barren land again -- she has no intentions of returning to Karnak, but it is becoming clear that there is nothing for her here either.