Luneshale Pass jin-azantys

there is a scent upon the steppe that is familiar, but not in a way that zharille can fully comprehend. she follows the scent as it arcs south, intrigued by the way the path flows around the mesa terrain rather than through it. she comes to a lake and follows it's boundary; stopping only to drink, to snap at some fish that escape without capture. it doesn't matter — she cannot tell if she is hungry, either way.

onward, she doesn't track how long she is moving. there is a pit in her stomach that was once filled by mesen-ka's gifts of many meals, and now that she is fending for herself again zharille knows she is capable, but not interested. it is a new sensation for her - this disinterest, this lack of appetite.

as she crosses in to the pass between mountains, her body finally refuses her wishes. the ache in her legs has finally awakened some sense of connection inside of her; she had spent too long sedentary after the birth of mesen-ka's little bastards, and now has spent too long moving.

the stoppage comes abruptly. one step that doesn't lift as quickly as she'd like; a poorly placed turn; catching herself on her own stride, and upon the shale that litters the earth. it gives beneath her and zharille is too dissociative about it. she doesn't catch herself, and the ogre tumbles.

when the dust settles, zharille looks every part like an ancient creature unearthed for the first time in millennia. shards of stone cushion beneath her broad body. she opens her eyes to slits and watches the sunlight through grit, sighing through her nose, which plumes like a giant's breath.