Horizon Ridge Chaos

He could not stop thinking about her; the little one from the beach, the perfect child whom reminded him of Monet. She was like a miniature Monet, filled to the brim with enthusiasm and many interests; little Deirdre, the magical girl. Ren thought fondly of his time upon the beach with her, as well as her darling father, and wondered if he should seek them out — but he was jarred from his thoughts by a strange sound in the air. It was so very, very strange — a cacophony of hissing, or singing, but the tones were ill-sounding to his sensitive ears. The man paused and raised his head, curious of this strange new thing, and turned his head and forequarters with an excited expression upon his butter-toned face; he had nary the time to catch sight of the darkness in the air before the swarm descended.

Renoir didn't want to move at first. He felt the the many legs touching him, combing through his fur, and he should have been unsettled. Afraid, maybe. He should have felt something, but the boy was in shock. He was soon swallowed up by the shifting cloud of insects — and after a few moments of being overwhelmed, his golden body burst from the heart of the cloud. He did not know what to do, and simply ducked to avoid them. They were everywhere — these cthonic things, wrought from his worst nightmares — and Renoir's ineptitude was immense.

He ducked, weaved, spun, dashed — showcasing a nimble physicality which even he was unaware of. By the time he reached the nearest ridge and fell panting towards the forest, he was puffing and wheezing, and the trees themselves were alive with the creatures. It was clear that the bugs were more interested in the trees than in him, although some still tried to test his flesh for some edible quality. The boy bristled and whined, dancing away from the heavier clusters of locusts and weaving between trees, when he heard a shout.

The swarm moved between the trees with him, and he ran for that sound - the voice among the din of white noise - and saw a stranger being swallowed up in much the same manner as himself. He wished to call out to her, to help her somehow but having seen the affect of opening one's mouth to let the evil in, Renoir was convinced to stay silent. He raced through the trees towards her nonetheless, and when he reached the stranger he began to snap at the bugs upon her body — trying to free her from them yet being afraid of the taste upon his tongue.