Redsand Canyon her flesh held the scent of honeysuckle drenched in battle
"But if I live, I win,"
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Ooc — R/Rachel
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@Donovan Azura maybe? set sometime after her joining thread (timelines oof) set in territory #5 (catacombs), looking out on territory #9 (redsand canyon). I figured they prolly would have stashed her somewhere after the healers looked at her? Oh yeah, (last note oml) but by way of explanation, she would still be a bit confused and disoriented


When at last, she woke - truly - she was in the dark once more. 

Several slow, heavy beats of her heart had thudded by before the waif tried to move, which were spent attempting to puzzle out the situation she'd found herself in. In those infinite seconds, her mind raced for explanation against the impending fearful realization of amnesia. 

Here was different, light penetrated - silver and silky. This was safe; this she could focus on. 

Staggering, the shattered creature struggled to her paws on failing legs. It took her a minute to blink away the black void that clouded her vision, just as it did to hobble to the mouth of the cavern where she must've been stowed. 

The healer did not have to squint against the moon - a longtime companion - and swept her surroundings from within the shadows with a wounded gaze. 

Freezeframes of petrified waves, dunes of sand turned some shade of pewter by the night as far as her eyes could see. The occasional column of ruddied stone standing warden against the dark. 

Her first thought was that the gaping hole in her memory could be attributed to Aliroth, that he had somehow returned her to the clutches of the Ravine. In her mind - which was still fractured with disconnect and throbbing as though beat like an anvil - it was the only thing that made sense. The only true memory she could recall was a hazy image of Donovan's face (surprisingly enough) but this had a dreamlike quality - the golden ambiance of it surreal and foggy.

The only evidence to disprove her addled theories were the signs of a healer's touch: the perfume of poultice, the sting of herbs against her open wounds, the cobwebs binding them.

Resources were never wasted on slaves; she could think of but one reason they might save her. There were many things she could not remember but the fate of concubines was not one. The druid could still see the redhead girl who clung to her as the slavers brought them in, just as she can still see the mutilated remains of her body when it was removed from the tunnels. 

To hell with that. She will not sit idly by and wait for the next assault to come. 

She tiptoes out onto the shifting sands with a heavy limp, a silver beacon flashing beneath the moon - I am here. 

Without warning, she buckles to the ground and slowly twists in the substrate - hissing and biting back grunts as the grains scour her flesh and grind into raw, superficial wounds. Blood will bead up but the sand will camoflauge her scent with luck, her coat stained ruddy by its dust and her own lifeblood. 

Pacing her lopsided gait to move faster is a new agony in itself, an awkward stumble of a lope somewhere between a flinching trot and a stuttering canter. 

She cuts through the desert, southward, uncertain of her location but unrelenting. 

She runs as if the very hounds of hell are chasing after her. No alarm has sounded yet - but perhaps they already are.
"You see, I got a bullet for a tooth and
I'm gonna use it to shoot you."