The damnable place had become so familiar that she was not shocked when she found herself there. The same void, the same lack of anything but the sense that something was there with her, watching, waiting. Since this place seemed to belong to the evil, she knew that it probably could see her, even if she could not see it. All she had to go on was that feeling that something was probing her, maybe not physically, but probing her mind, her soul, looking for chinks in that invisible armor she was trying to hide behind. She was not shocked, but had the good sense to be scared, terrified.
She could feel it shifting, moving closer then back away. Slithering, slinking, hiding, probing. For the briefest moment, she thought she felt a touch. Something cold, lifeless yet burning, alive with the intent of malice. A slow breath was taken of the odorless air, then exhaled just as slowly. She tried to steel herself mentally and emotionally for what she knew would come eventually.
She did not have long to wait. It was if this think in the void sought to assault all of her sense at once. The space around her grew lighter, filled with a gray smoke that undulated around her boots, and the acrid odor made her stomach lurch with its' stench. Fetid, coppery, the smell of burning hair, charred flesh, excrement, death suddenly surrounded her as the smoke did. The sounds she had heard at one time here, the sounds of battle, screaming, the death throes of animals, people and hope, were not there. The only sounds were an occasional moan, or the faint rush of breath as it passed through parted lips for the final time.
Slowly she turned to see what was around her, and her own breath caught in her throat, choking her, forcing the air from lungs that ached from the foul air. But when that breath comes, it comes in a rush of not only air but of fear and emotions. And ached cry comes from her lips to join the death groans that float on the air around her.
Turning around, she can see that the earth is scorched, dead and burning. Not like she has seen from fires on the plains, but in a way that tells her that all there is dead, even the ground beneath her feet, the air she tries to breathe.
Her first instinct is the same that all creatures have when confronted with something that they do not understand, or something that threatens their very existence. Run. Run as fast and as far as you can. Taking those first faltering steps, she trips, stumbles and falls to her hands and knees. The pain of her hands burning is excruciating, breathtaking, but yet comforting. The pain lets her know that among all of this death, she is still alive.
Finding her feet, she begins to run. Is it chasing her, right on the heels of her boots? She does not even need to look around and see. It is there, aware of each footstep, of each stumble, of each fall. At one point, she trips over something, falls once more, something almost soft breaking her fall. Every instinct she has, tells her to get up, run again.
Pushing away from what had broken her fall, she begins to scream. It was a charred body. One still smoldering, and the stench rising from it almost unbearable. Shoving it away, her hands sink into the morbid flesh and the head of the thing rolls over with a flop, and all she can see are the eyes that stare at her from the sunken orbits that hold them. All of the flesh is burned, blackened and sloughing off of the skull, but the eyes seem to still be alive, accusatory, all seeing.
Making her way to her feet, she begins to run again, stumbling over things laying on the ground. Looking down, she sees that they are skulls, some new, still with flesh hanging from them, others older, bleached white by the passage of time. They were everywhere. This place has evidently been serving the evil as a killing field since time began.
It was more than her mind could assimilate. More than she wanted to understand. Reason left her and she drops to her knees and begins to scream. Over and over again.
"What do you want from me? Why have you brought me here? Why? Why? Why?"
The screams had brought Rook and the girls tearing through the flaps and into the wagon. Rook drops down beside the sleeping platform and tries to shake her awake, to no avail. To look at her, you would think she slept peacefully, up until you looked at her eyes. Beneath the lids, you could see her eyes moving rapidly, without stop. He even used his fingers to try and pull them apart, and saw the same thing. Her eyes were in constant movement, darting one way then the next.
Even at this, she did not awaken. For all of his shaking and slapping, not a sound came from her, not a muscle moved. In fact, she seemed paralyzed, unable to move. Laying her back down, he watches her, to check and see that she still breathed. If she did, they were slow shallow breaths, hard to detect. He turned to juneau and spoke sharply to her.
"Find a healer, harta! And find the spex, the one they call Fonce, then run to the woman Tarra's wagons. We need help. All the help we can get. " He turned to twist. "Check on the children, make sure they are safe, and keep them calm if they have been awakened." He continued to sit by her, holding one of those cool hands in his grasp. The old man's heart pounded, for she was as close to death as anyone he has every seen, without truly being dead.
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