One thing was certain - the temperatures had certainly been rising as she continued down the canyon. It had been cold enough to warrant pulling her coat over her shoulders when she had first woken, but now it had become almost disturbingly hot. The heat made her drowsy and dampened the clarity of her mind. The unscalably steep sides of the deep, narrow, twisting canyon would have cast ample shadows even if the sun were to ever rise high into the sky ... but as it was, the bottom of the canyon was a realm of perpetual shadows that nevertheless only offered smothering heat, even without the world's poor excuse for sunlight touching one's skin.
She had long removed her coat and was now carrying it in her arms, having wrapped it around the axe's handle and left only the iron head poking out. The bundle was not quite heavy enough to have made her arms sore from carrying it for extended periods of time just yet, but still she wondered whether it would be possible to fashion the coat's sleeves into a sling of some sort she could put around her neck, freeing her hands and arms of the burden. Probably not - the sleeves of the coat were too comparatively short and thick for the purpose.
Perhaps even worse than the heat was the fine dust permeating the air, dust that never seemed to settle as even the faintest gust of wind swept generous clouds of it up. It entered her nose and caked its damp insides; she could taste it in her mouth and forming a sticky abrasive paste that clung to her teeth. Every now and then, she could not resist rubbing a knuckle against her nose, or trying to pick or blow it, for it felt as though soon, no air would be able to pass through her nostrils. Tie a rag in front of her face, perhaps?
Worth a try, at least. Gathering the bundle under one arm, she slung the backpack in front of her and dug into it with the other hand, locating one of the cleaner strips of fabric she had stashed away. Attaching the cloth to her head in order for it to cover her nose and mouth required her to take a seat where she stood and temporarily place her coat and axe down on her lap, as tying the ends of the piece of fabric into a knot at the nape of her neck required the use of both her hands. With a deep breath, let her arms drop to the sides and shoulders sag as she finished. Better. The cloth itself likewise restricted breathing to a noteworthy extent, but as long as it kept most of the dust out...
Gather up the bundle again she did, and back up to her feet she got... A dry creek at the bottom of a canyon was no home for her. She needed one with shelter, food and water - the first the canyon barely offered other than in the form of a few deeper nooks and more spacious grooves carved into its walls by the running waters that had once formed this gaping rift in the landscape. The latter two were even more scarce.
She had, however, noticed a beetle earlier - a black one with a flat body, almost the length of her thumb (and chances were it could also draw blood if it were to clamp its mandibles down on her skin) -, but it had managed to skitter across the ground and climb into some crack in the canyon's wall before she could as much as begin to think on whether to let it be or go for it. They were edible in a true pinch, bud god did the brownish liquid they tended to squirt out when you caught one reek... (Who was she kidding? Herself? It was bug shit...)
All in all, it at the very least proved that there was some small life about, and hence a supply of food. Water, though, was a much more pressing matter. One could last quite a few weeks without food, but without water? A couple of days, a handful at a true stretch, and then you were done for. For now she still had some food and a decent reserve of water left that she only took small gulps from every few hours, but who knew how long this canyon spanned, or how many days would it be till she finds drinkable water or more than marginal amounts of sustenance... Viewed from that angle, a flask and a half to drink and small bundle of hard-dried provisions seemed all too little.
She had been starving at least once before, had she not?
If life - here, in this world especially - had taught her anything, it was to preserve her reserves as much as possible. Spare what food will not spoil for the last, and only eat a small handful of it when there is nothing else left and it feels as if your stomach is about to digest itself in the lack of anything else to process; from your container of water, merely take a small sip at a time, just enough to moisten your mouth and throat, and only when you feel you would not be able to persist otherwise. Refill at any chance, and if you happen upon a place with more food and water can you can carry, make it your home until the supply of one or the other has been diminished to the point where it could be taken along.
And never, never scorn food. Edible is edible. Beetles, roots, fungi that in another place and time would be thrown aside for their taste alone, even the fresh blood and flesh from dead beings, regardless of whether they might have been sentient before death. The dead had no use for anything.
Each and every meal in this world was a trial - either it was dangerous to obtain, disgusting in taste or nature, or what one might call morally dubious, if not utterly unacceptable. Evergreen sprouts - even the old, hard, wooden ones she recalled herself having once chewed on out of desperation in her old life - would have been a true delicacy in this place.
It was a harsh world, a world for beasts rather than humans ... and also a world that was now her only home. There was no way back, and right now she had to continue down along the creek.
The canyon was - somewhat relievingly - also changing in other ways than the ambient temperatures rising as she moved along. It had become wider, its bottom flatter and easier to traverse. And had the walls, though still impossibly steep and insurmountable, become lower? It was hard to tell from down where she was.
After another turn, she could see the glisten of some manner of fluid on the ground ahead. Not much - only a small shallow pond - or puddle, rather, as "pond" was too generous a label to assign the minuscule reservoir of fluid. As she closed in on it, it became evident that it was no water.
A distinct, sharp and acrid smell hung in the air around the puddle, getting the stronger the closer one got. The stench was mildly reminiscent of bile and vomit. It irritated her nose and airways and made her eyes water; breathing in made her want to sneeze and cough despite the fabric covering her nose and mouth.
Whatever substance this strong-smelling yellow-tinted fluid was, it had been steadily dissolving some mineral the surrounding rocks were largely composed of, and it appeared that quite some of it had evaporated since the puddle had first formed. There was a clear line marking the original level of liquid on the surrounding rocks - rocks which were otherwise gray and hard, but had become pale chalk-white and seemingly incredibly friable where the liquid had had time to work its way into the mineral. Carefully running one of her fingernails over the surface of one of those bleached-white rocks (perhaps from simple morbid curiosity) confirmed the latter suspicion - her nail penetrated the material with ease, leaving a deep rend as she dragged her finger over the mineral's surface.
She certainly did not want the ... vile fluid to contact her flesh.
Nearing her skin, she could see the otherwise transparent bone-shatteringly cold substance covering her hand becoming faintly yellowish, then orange, then red. Blood. Her blood. It was seeping into the liquid through her skin...
The shallow puddle of acidic bile was left behind. It was of no use of her, and staying near it was downright unhealthy, but in some small ways it proved she was on the right path. Logic dictated that it being there indicated that the creek at the bottom of the canyon had not been dry for years upon years. There had been a stream here, not too long ago, and she was presumably headed for whatever body of water it ended in - perhaps it was even actual water.
She came across another pool of the disgusting liquid a few hours down the road - this one was actually worthy of being labeled a pond, and it forced her onto a narrow ledge with her back against the inward-leaning canyon wall to get around. It was uncomfortable, and it made her wonder whether somewhere down the path, there would come a reservoir of it she simply would not be able to get around. (Was the liquid in this one also somewhat less concentrated than in the first small puddle?)
Nothing. There was a disconcerting amount of nothing. Only the canyon, the mostly-dry creek at its bottom, oppressive heat, wind that did not cool and only swept up dust, and sparse pools of acid. At least there was no beast more formidable than her.
It took another hour until she noticed something else noteworthy. It was a bizarre plant, its resilient roots digging into the canyon-wall at about her chest-height. It was the size of a small bush, its branches poison-green, leafless, and covered in wicked serrated thorns the length of one of her fingers each.
What marked it noteworthy was not the fact that it was a plant of some description in an otherwise almost life-incompatible environment - this place was awfully fond of taunting its inhabitants, as if purposefully planting twisted replicas of things they knew and found comforting in unexpected places -, but the no less than eight turnip-sized fruits clinging to its branches. The fruits, too, looked unsavory - dark brown instead of poison-green, but just as spiky as the rest of the plant.
Appearances aside, the fruits were actually edible once you got past their tough and dangerous exterior (with the aid of an axe or a cleaver, if not otherwise). Conditionally edible, anyway. They were juicy and probably rather nutritious, and tasted not quite as awful as one would expect, if a bit sour ... but, there was also at least one "but". They were also somewhat corrosive - they did not damage your teeth, and stomach acid was more than capable of taking care of them, but your mouth and throat were a fair game.* Eat more than one a day, and your mouth would bleed, and if your had some manner of ulcers in it, or you had cracked lips, or the juice of the fruit had already eaten through your skin - well, then the juice of those fruits hurt worse getting into these injuries than salted vinegar and pure lye.
She did not know how she knew that these spiky things were edible. There were things she simply knew, and she did not question them. Questioning some things was unhealthy.
She unwrapped her axe, setting the winter-coat down on a nearby rock. Contemplatively, she eyed the thorny plant, and then set to hacking at the points where the fruits connected to the plant. It was a bit harder task than she had first assumed, since rather than be cut through, the branches tended to simply swing back. Either she had to hit the base of the fruit at just the right angle, or get the branch between the blade of the axe and the wall... In the end, one by one, the fruits dropped to the ground. While going after the uppermost one, she got too close to the lower branches, and with the last swing, the serrated thorns of the lower branches tore three shallow, but nasty gashes into the index and middle finger of her right hand. Deep enough for her damaged fingers to steadily drip blood.
The next several minutes were spent sitting atop her winter-coat, catching breath and sucking on the backs of her injured fingers. For such a relatively small injury, the scratches surely took a long time before they stopped bleeding, and bled a lot. Even inanimate plants will fight you here before they let you eat parts of them.
She did not try to pick up the spiky fruits on the ground by bare hand right away - she first bashed the fruits with the flat and the back of her axe's head till their thorns broke off, eventually rendering them battered-looking and damaged, but ultimately mostly safe to handle. Seven of those were bound up and attached to the back of her backpack, one was split open with the blade of her axe.
Carefully (so as to not let the juice get onto her injured fingers) she set to eat that last one, using only her tool-knife for cutlery and the shell of the fruit as a bowl. She took the liberty of washing the lingering taste of the fruit's juice down with two rather generous gulps of water from one of her water flasks.
The roof of her mouth nevertheless felt slightly raw.
But even that was better than the continued pangs of hunger, right?
There were a couple more of the pools of acidic bile, as well as more thorn-plants, though none but one with ripe fruits, and that one was too high up the canyon wall to bother even trying to make her way to it. Would have been a too precarious endeavor with too small a chance for reward.
The canyon had definitely broadened further and it seemed that the creek now had only snaked in a portion of its floor at a time, rather than running the entire width of it. There was dirt to the sides of the rockier creek bed, and here and there she could see sparse yellowed tufts of some manner of coarse and sharp-edged grass.
There were no longer even grooves to hide in; the area felt ... open. Too open. The walls to the left were diminishing in height, and soon became but a low rocky ridge as the canyon merged with what appeared to be a much greater valley. If the canyon's broadening had left her feeling just a slight bit uncomfortable, then this new development in terrain was almost disheartening. She remembered running across a meadow and being happy in her old life, but here ... she thought she preferred forests and caves. Harder to notice things in advance, but the bigger monsters had harder time spotting her, too. It is not like she had a good chance of outrunning the bigger beasts...
She lowered herself closer to the ground, her posture like that of a cowering animal, and pulled against the rocky ridge left by the canyon-wall.
And it seemed that her caution was not for naught. Peering around a corner, she, for the first time since her last awakening, saw a living being that was bigger than her.
And it was a human being!
It was a tall ... man, she assumed. She could not see his face, or even tell much of his build besides the fact that he was big, for he was still far away and clad in dark armor from head to toe. Full armor complete with helmets tended to make all people look identical. Same with heavy winter-garments... He carried some manner of pole-arm, though the only kind of polearm she actually knew a name for was a spear. His "spear" had a head that was much like that of an axe, though very-very feeble-looking compared to her own axe's hefty solid iron head. Spear-axe?
Keeping behind rocks and tufts of dead sharp grass, she clambered closer to the knight (these armored men were knights, no?), peering in his direction and hopefully remaining unseen (it would be hard to see with what was essentially a metal bucket with tiny slits for looking through on one's head, right?). She felt ... incredibly nervous, not only because the person was potentially dangerous (if it were only that, she would not be going closer to him), but because it was a human and ... she had wanted to be around ones again?
For some reason she felt hopelessly outclassed. - Like a girl looking at the nobles passing through the small town her parents had taken her so they could sell their wares on the market. (She somehow knew such things probably existed in what she called her old life, but had she ever been part of something like that herself? She did not know...) But it was the old life... In this world, all were equal, no? She ... did not know what hand had put her out of her habitual hunter-scavenger-prey mode and into some sort of concern over societal norms and "appropriateness". It was ... confusing. She was not sure she liked it.
The dark knight was probably not dangerous ... he was staggering forward in an odd manner, dragging his feet and swaying slightly, even despite his armor leaving the impression that he was about to falter and keel over from ... exhaustion? injuries?
In any case, if he was friendly, it would be good, if he was not, she and her axe could easily overpower him, if he was already dying, then... she could definitely find something on him (or of him) he had an use for.
Two sensations were stronger than others: an oddly biting deep regret and the lingering realization that there ... were others? Also the feeling that she should take what could be taken; the dead had no use for anything.
As if on cue, the dark knight finally faltered, sinking to his knees and, in a vain, almost pathetic attempt to keep himself from slumping face-first to the ground fully, supported himself on his spear-axe. Still keeping behind whatever rubble and rocks she could, she persisted to sneak closer, not really certain whether to rise and introduce herself, or... Ah, to hell with it; she would be able to flee from him or kill him, worst coming to worst.
She had half-risen up from her hiding place when another man emerged from his hiding-spot, and her already round eyes widened to an almost impossible extent as she hurriedly drew back into a hidden position.
Two people!? Here, of all places?
Her first thought was that of carrion-birds, circling high above a weak or injured animal, waiting, lazily drifting, and if the animal finally collapses, sweeping in and reaping the rotting fruits of their patience. There was this suspicion that the second man had been following the first, and now when the knight was obviously on the verge of succumbing to this place, he showed up and walked right up to him. For some reason it irritated her, though she herself could perhaps be labeled a carrion bird herself.
Carrion birds avoided fight.
Giving up on a more stealthy approach, she stood, throwing her winter-coat clumsily over her shoulders and brandishing her axe fully. She held it in two, not so much in an actual combat-stance as in a manner that clearly and proudly declared to the world: "I have an axe, and if made to, I will use it against you."
Her eyes were still widened, and this time around, the nervousness and confusion in them was real. Her heart was pounding. Her hands were shaking slightly as she gripped the wooden handle of her chosen weapon. The axe was solid and comforting. The second man was with his back to her, and as she had made no sound loud enough to carry over, he probably had not noticed her yet. The knight could see her, if he only looked in her approximate direction...
What a sight she would be - a tall, sturdy woman with ghastly pale skin, with muscled arms and gaunt face, a rag still covering the lower half of it, in frayed garments and temporarily wearing a winter-coat in this heat just because she did not dare to leave it behind... To top it off, she was wielding a large, hefty axe. She blinked.
Did she even remember how to speak? She remembered herself speaking, even in here... But she had also become accustomed to being on her own, and to this world. She had even begun to look like this world - the pale muscled arms and long, nigh-taloned hands she could see as she glanced at the appendages gripping the axe's shaft were not the ones that were holding it when she was chopping wood near an evergreen-forest.
"I am not like these things," she had insisted, but she had also had the feeling that she was not being believed.
For an uncomfortably long moment, she stood still, and the second man spoke, "Marching without stop, without food or drink, is incredibly stupid, you know. It is not a race. Carrying around all that also slows you down a lot. War equipment is ill suited for long travels." The distance she was at made the words faint.
So this was why the knight was faltering? Exhaustion and no water? No water killed you quickly. Not taking care of yourself? Foolish, yes. But where would one put equipment here? She had been dragging her winter-coat around when she did not need it because it was practically irreplaceable, and she needed it. For warmth when it was cold, for sleeping on... That spear-axe looked useful. For walking-support, for poking at things, and as a weapon. Armor ... protected you, she guessed? Must be terrible with this heat, though.
The second man reached for something in his bag and seemingly offered them to the knight. "These are really bitter, but it should quench your thirst and hunger. It's not much, but consider it an investment."
Bitter? How would something bitter that fit in a human's palm help a starving, thirsty person all that much? If anything, it would make one even more acutely aware of how thirsty one was, especially if one's mouth was all dried up and no saliva was produced.
She was also still staying put, like some awkward statue of a scarecrow. Semi-sideways, still with her axe poised, she began moving towards the two, eyes still flickering nervously.
"...Not like them."
Not the most harmless-looking way to approach, was it? The both of them also could probably hear her now, if they had not noticed her before. She stopped a dozen and a half meters from the two, hesitating.
"Hey!? I..." Her voice was uncertain, and she did not even know what she had began to say.
"I mean no harm." Where from came the automatic assumption of hostility? (There was a deep sense of regret.) Her eyes flickered to the axe, then back to the men. "Precaution. The ... strangers. Yes. You're strangers. I don't know you, nor your intentions. Don't ... recall seeing people here. Not living and friendly ones, at least." Well, that was embarrassing...
"I..." Provided that neither of them had attacked her yet, she inched almost a dozen meters closer, trying to glance at what the second man was offering to the knight. Berries. "A human can survive a month and a half without food. Without water, in this heat? Two days and you're dead. He needs water, if he wants to live. Actual water. A few berries won't make much of a change." I have water. But announcing it right away would be foolish, and who was to say those people would be worth the "investment"? For all she knew these two would attack her as soon as they got the opportunity. So, now, the most important thing they had to know about her was the fact that she had an axe.
*Think fresh (and potentially even slightly raw) pineapples and how those can damage your mouth if you eat too much, but with five times as bad effect.
