Overture Downs [m] chicken soup for the soulless

Somewhere in the distance behind her, a mallard squawked. Javelina halted in the heart of the fern grove as her mouth flooded with—not purple, like geese, but more of an indigo color. She swallowed, mouth falling ajar as her breath left her in harsh puffs. Her feet kept moving.

She came across the stream that flowed from the bypass. It was frozen but the thought of water made her aware of her thirst. Javelina abruptly flopped down in the snow and began lapping up mouthfuls of the stuff. It stung her teeth but she didn’t care. Cool water trickled down her throat, a brief relief.

It did nothing to soothe the fire in her core. She climbed back to her feet, taking great care to cross the ice. She paused on the far bank to inspect her thigh again, expecting to see it inflamed. The skin did not look pretty—Javelina would always bear a scar—but there was no pus, no pain.

Grunting in frustration, she faced forward, trudging slowly now. Her eyes clung to those familiar arches as they loomed. Her heart pounded hard in her chest. She felt great rashes of heat flashing down her spine. Dully, she noted that she needed to urinate, though she ignored the sensation for now.

Unsure of what she might find, Javelina walked into Rivenwood.