Day 1 of heat! This thread is set during the morning!
Sunday was on fire. Not in the literal sense, but she felt she might as well have been. She had heard of the stuff that could be created by the strike of lightning against dry wood; how did it exist within her? What had struck her? She felt the lash of it within, and she could not be still. Her one small blessing was the cooler temperatures within the Taiga. But she needed something more to smother this flame.
She was out of the Plains; panting, she made her way into the Marsh. Sunday Morning grimaced, looking around with a shake of her head. Any water she spotted here was stagnant and still—not for swimming. Sunday was nearly desperate enough to try to dive into the stagnant body of water. Oblivious to her own scent that dominated the stink of the murk, Sunday huffed as she considered.
And then in she went! The heat she felt within did not succumb, and Sunday found no relief. Even when she rolled and writhed in the waters (they were not deep), it was of no use. She lifted herself from the marshwater, loosing a low, whistling whine before shaking out her furs. The dirt clung to her, and so too did her cloying scent. Sunday knew this territory would provide her with no relief, and so forged ahead; she hoped to make it through these lands quickly.
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