I waited; the swirling, trickling pools drawing natural whirls and babbling bubbles across the shallows between the bark and vine.
It felt like I was there for an eternity, but eventually, the precipitation drew to a close almost as suddenly as it had started, and the floodwaters that had kept imprisoned slowly petered off into a trickle.
Completely disoriented, I climbed to my feet, and started towards the general direction that I rembered seeing the firelight from before.
Slow, padding footsteps parted foliage and furlongs alike, as the world declared its indifference to my tortured predicant with distant winds whistling through the leaves, and further accentuating my deathly cold.
I sloshed through ankle deep puddles and over small piles of stones; with no real destination in mind.
There was no "right" direction in this forest. There was only danger, and deception, to be found within these shadows.
The best I could hope for at this point, was a montary reprieve that could tide over until I managed to dry off. This chilling breeze would certainly be the death of —granted the slim, slim, very slim chances that the blood loss or infection wouldn't do in, first.
An ear sharpening rattle ca along with a hiss in the edge of my ken, causing to stop dead in my tracks. The noise ca from my left, ahead, but it was too loud to have been recognizable as any garden snake that I would have happened to co across in my sheltered widland life.
It was the trademark call of the standard sandbacked sliper—so nad for the rough, sandpaper texture of its dorsal side, which it uses to good effect when raking its serrated tail across to create a distinctive territorial call that none could ever misapprehend—a creature as notorious as it is infamous.
They have a lovely reputation of firing their corrosive spray from the glandular notches located at six points across their body at the slightest provocation; filling up a cubic ter with their scalding, deliquescing discharge, and eagerly slurping up whatever remains intact after the initial montous exchange. Well, that, and their selective palate.
They supposedly love to feast on children.
Many believe that they often wander into the glades just for a taste of that juvenile delicacy, and their records seem to match that attestation.
Nine tis out of ten, the children sniffed out by this massive, fifty-foot long amphibian would be soup by the ti that any of their kin managed to rush onto the scene... and here I was, wandering haphazardly into its own personal den; ard with nothing more than a sickle, my naked feet, and an pocketful of good intentions.
Every inch of my body froze. My already frozen skin defied all natural laws by allowing an even deeper chill to run through it; puckering over its surface in the endearing bumps of a plucked goose, and ironically peppering my already-sodden forehead in a salty glaze of cold sweat.
I didn't move a hair's width. I didn't want to give it any reason to change the situation My breathing was thankfully masked by the vacuous shape of my poncho, which broke up my silhouette with a tent of loosely fitted fabric.
I ntally thanked my Atha for reminding to bring it this morning. It hissed at again, grinding its tail against the furrows on its back. I swallowed hard.
They are an annoyance, even in the unfamiliar territory of the glades, but I had no recourse for complaint in this mont. I was the invader of his ho turf. I was the trespasser.
I could only back away the direction I had co, and hope that it didn't see as a threat... and dream that it had already eaten dinner.
Again, it hissed from its comfortable perch, sowhere in the darkness beyond my sight. This was a good sign, as they are prone to charge when they deem their attackers are slightly out of range. The fact that it had yet to budge ant that I hadn't yet qualified for that designation.
Yes, I was out of range, but no, I wasn't hostile. I hadn't even seen it yet, in all honesty, and the trembling in my extremities didn't hamper my intentions one bit as I paced blindly into my rear.
Soon, it was obvious that I had no intentions of approaching their nest, nor disturbing their slumber, so I was rewarded with a slightly less intensive territorial display. It stopped raking its back, and vocalized with an even louder hiss.
It was like it was trying to say "Get out of here, already! I'm trying to stay warm myself; can't you tell that much?!"
I took that as my cue, and sprinted back through where I'd co.
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