Wolf RPG

the damnable sun blazed brilliant gold from its celestial throne in the clear, azure sky overhead. unfortunately, not even a single cloud was in sight, the warmth only serving to crack the already parched, hard-packed sandstone of the badlands. it was certainly not a pretty sight. 

nevertheless, there was a peculiar beauty to be found in the austere, deadlands that were redolent of the scents of curiosity and trepidation.
though there was little of interest to be seen in rocks, cracked ground and endless seas of shale and limestone. the only fault that could be foud in the land was simply how boring it appeared to be. 

living creatures did not necessarily make any location interesting- but color did and there was a distinctive lack of color here. as though the earth itself had sucked the vibrant hues out. it wasn't as though such things actually concerned the wanderer- rather, they gave her something to think about.

the scents that faded from curiosity tinged with fear, to nearly nothing at all, informed Natascha that few others dared to roam these badlands, as though they feared such a place. though it could certainly become dangerous if one was without water for a prolonged time here. she could not see why anyone was truly scared of the place. there was absolutely nothing here. eyes scanned the horizon, searching. but for what?  there to the east. a glint, like a mirror reflecting in the sun.

she trekked onward, going towards the curious thing. she stood there, transfixed by the glass though still guarded. she was lowered, weight shifted behind her, her head was near the ground as she observed, ears up. though she had been admiring the scenery, she was forever aware of her surroundings. never again would she be caught unaware. never again. 
"Curiouser and curiouser?"

one paw would reach out to touch the smooth surface. nails scratching it's face. she peered deeper into the depths of molten sand. her nose touching the glass. flecks of color could be seen within, shimmering just under the surface. the glass, it had an unnatural glow. magic? brighter than it should have been given the time of day. it was slightly unnerving to her. a shudder ran along the course of her spine, an involuntary response to the eerie feel of the place. for things that should not be, but are.

overcast skies cast a gloomy atmosphere over an already darkening horizon, and as nightfall looms near, churning clouds finally release their furious downpour. the rain is a few degrees too cold to be refreshing, the wind a little too strong. the powerful gusts rip her scratched and broken scream from from the air, breaking it and throwing it in every direction, as the girl's body tears at a crooked sprint into the sinking, moving pit. her soaked, figure charges forward into the mud with little regard for the danger, not knowing how deep it could pull her down, nor what lies beyond. it is a relief to the restless anger trapped in weary muscles to fight the drag of the ever-worsening mud; she throws all of her frustration into thrashing one way then the other, actually making fair progress through the desolation, gradually moving towards the gnarled, twisted tree at the top. it takes time, and damn near all of her strength, to get there: and when she finally falls against the rough, wet and rotted trunk, she nearly loses control of her body's slide, her hind feet sticking into the ground beneath her. exasperated, she throws her head skyward, calling a great raspy 'fuck you' to the heavens. she is certain that her front legs will not hold her, using one of the wide, dark roots of the tree for leverage; she will die here. to have come so far o ly to fall so short of the promised life she was never gave. 

her grip slips, and this is it, she thinks. this is the way her world ends--

but a crack of lightning nearby startles her, and as the earth shakes with the rolling thunder that follows, her self-pity grows quiet. naked instinct and adrenaline twist her stomach and lend her strength, and without thinking, the girl throws herself forward and out of the muckpit. her hind leg finds a few inches of firm footing atop another root, and she uses it to propel herself upwards and into the tree. on the lowest limb, she hangs her legs off either side, head lolled against the branch in sheer exhaustion, as the rain beats on and the lightning goes on flashing out of her immediate view.