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Lavender Dawn Mountain
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A sort of trance washes over you, and you feel your instincts take over, painting the world in vivid colours. Reno is safe under you, under a blanket, and you feel like she's not dead. In the heart of your heart you know Reno can never die, will never die, not while you're here. Or what's the point?
You bark for help, an echoing, bellowing noise that rings in your own ears. Your snout tastes blood on the air, fresh hot blood, coffee, and a strong, musty smell; a steppe smell, sun-baked soil and heavy herbs. Seems like having to bear that stench for long would give you a headache, that stale and ugly smell, standing water in a puddle in the great and terrible and barren bariia.
Your hackles raise. Your mind races. You don't have a weapon in here. Stupid not to bring one, but it's forbidden to take arms into the chambers of royalty unless bidden to do so directly. Not that Reno would have cared... Shit. You can feel time crumbling away. How long until that creature shoots again? Are there more than one?
You can think of only three options. You could assault that thing with nothing but your claws and teeth, you could attempt to dislodge and launch one of the ceramic bedside succulent-baskets, or you could try to locate and throw the coffee-tray. Either way, you'll have to move fast. If anyone heard your barked order, they'll take too long to mobilize.
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