ال{Shrol, Yaron, Scorpian Mites}

Sometime in the night, cursing lost its meaning. Occasional outbursts blurred together until Yaron's voice had become one long strand of profanity, fuck and why did you leave me here alone (whoever "you" was) and damn my leg and kill me weaving together so that even she couldn't tell when she started and stopped. She was vaguely aware that there were stops, mostly when she needed to breath or sobs and sleep overwhelmed her, but she had trouble keeping track of when they were.

Nightmares, having returned in full force and never fading because she never fully woke, kept her on the move. Excruciating though it was, she kept crawling in whatever direction felt safest, until dawn finally broke and she found herself outside another glass tower. With a stare that wanted to be angry but never quite matured pitiful, she regarded the glint of sunlight on glass and swore with every bit of energy left in her that she would never set foot (foot, god fucking damn it she only had one foot) in one of those death traps again. Instead, she used the strengthening light to pull out one of her medical kits and replace the makeshift bandages on her feet (foot and ankle)..

The sands stretched out behind her, agonizingly still.

She went in.

The inside was not a pleasant surprise—pleasant did not exist anymore—but it was something of a relief. Here a single landscape went on as far as she could see, but it was new, and it wasalive. The plants varied. Shimmers of real movement through the tall grass, like those caused by small animals, warded away the remnants of the half-hallucinated shadows that had chased her all night. This may not be a place of peace; the beauty might yet betray her as the forest had, sending forth another monster of flesh or steel to claim another piece of her body. If she had to die somewhere, however, she'd prefer this to the expanse of sand.

Shrugging off the backpack slung over one shoulder, Yaron collapsed the few inches to the ground and curled up in the long grass. There, toying aimlessly with her sheep necklace, she waited.

Yaron uses 5 feet of bandages on each foot (the remnants of them, really) to detract 2 damage.

When I'm gone, don't bury me
I will not lie under this town
I will not lie where I can't see

There were too many bugs. While Yaron was distracted pushing one another moves in, and pain exploded in her head. She yanked back her arm and tried to clap her hand over the wound on reflex, but before she made it, something else smashed against her—luckily unbroken—leg and went down hard on her other side. Screwing up her entire face, Yaron scrabbled backward through grass, head swiveling from the bugs to the new threat and back again.

Except... Shrol? she mouthed, but couldn't quite bring herself to say, as she stilled. Even through suddenly swimming vision she could tell that the shape, rendered mottled by the shadows of long grass in the sun, was a person, and if she concentrated she could just make out familiar hair and dark skin, if never quite a coherent face. She wanted to be right so badly she could taste it like acid and grit at the back of her throat; she wanted—needed—to see his face free from the flush of venom, and to hear his voice this time, for the first time since the Training Center. Anything would do. He could scream at her for gashing open his wrist the other day; hell, he could pray at her, and she would just be glad he was alive and lucid to do it.

She just didn't know how to have that conversation without risking both their lives.

The bugs rustling after her gave her an excuse to tear her eyes away. Those swam in her vision too, but they stood tall enough and swarmed close enough that she didn't think she needed to aim too carefully.

[[attacks Mite 2]]
[dice=200+5000]
[[broken left shin; 7.0, dead]]

[rand=245735306525602946868522521108389413857109146192678180207216646522]

When I'm gone, don't bury me
I will not lie under this town
I will not lie where I can't see

Yaron's life flashed in front of her eyes as Shrol's hatchet waved into view. This was it, this was her little brother watching her bleed and sob and deciding to put her out of her misery—

The mite poised to sting her fell, ripped open through the head. Yaron slumped for half a second, but another clambered onto her broken foot, putting Shrol out of her mind entirely and drawing a shriek and a sharp kick. The thing refused to drop off. Propelled by adrenaline, she flung herself back through her own path in the sand to grab her weapon, curled awkwardly, and stabbed down at the creature.

[[attacks Mite 10]]
[dice=200+13000]
[[deep gash on neck; 10.0, dead]]

[rand=1217948107514530467035462521016675671798712573954227237910963595]