Samanayrs

The arid desert air felt strange in her nostrils as Mystic of the Silent Jungle sucked in a tired breath. Something in her was still used to the thick, heavy air of her jungle birthplace. The forests of her new home, the lands of the Song of the Quartered Dawn, felt dry and harsh to her muzzle at times. Even the forest's humidity seemed to increase in her mind when compared with air like this, though. It sucked at her lungs and dried out her nose. Sometimes the sensitive skin even bled a little bit, when the dry heat scorched her throat with every breath. She could never be comfortable living in a place like this and she didn't know how her mother could have stood being born here.

Once every two of three years, she asked for and obtained her stallion's permission to go on an extended journey. She made her way from their forested home and went to visit her daughter's jungle territory. Then she returned to the home of her heart, the lands of the Amazon Rains, in order to see her parents. Her twin brother's home was next, and she'd been surprised at the full Song he'd managed to gather for himself. Their mother always said he would do well as soon as he found himself a place in the world.

The last leg of her journey took her across the dunes of her grandparents' desert home so that she could visit their oasis and catch them up on the happenings of their extended family. It took her over a month to complete the entire circuit, but she always felt emotionally and spiritually fulfilled after seeing everyone. With so many Mystics in her line it seemed they always had news for one another, perhaps new techniques to practice or a new foal on its way.

She neared the end of her journey now, hopefully reaching the Restored Oasis by dusk tomorrow. She would stay for several days and enjoy their hospitality before beginning her walk home. Her legs ached with her recent exertions and her mind felt dull with fatigue after walking for so long over the relentless dunes, but she would find a place to rest for part of the evening and had the promise of a cool, refreshing spring to look forward to.

The desert had been Spike of the Arid Scale's home for his entire life, the sandy dunes and rocky patches as familiar to him as his own bumpy scales and gleaming red talons. He had been born and bred for the dry heat, toughened by the life of a Sa'krien and place of a stallion in the world. He reveled in the violence, the dominance, the hunts for food and territory. Every nick and scar was a badge of honor. Every creature he met posed a new threat, a new challenge.

It was a hard life, he knew, and he loved it.

Others shared the desert with him. He was only one stallion and could only secure himself so much territory. He had been joined in that struggle by another Sa'krien, a mare he could stand to be around without descending into a fight every other word. Many of their fights remained verbal, arguments and words that would flay the fur from a Samanayr with thinner skin. It was how he knew they got along, that lack of outright violence. Hostility was fine. It was healthy. It kept both of them on their toes, on the lookout for any threats to the land they begrudgingly claimed as a pair. He supposed they would declare themselves a Song eventually, when she got some sand out from between her... well... yes, and he stopped trying to chew on her in his sleep.

Besides Fang, the woman he might dare to call his mare so long as she wasn't within earshot, there were others in the desert. Other Samanayrs made their home among the dunes and oases, some of them native to the lands as he was. Others, softer creatures with heavier fur and mannerisms entirely unsuited to the harsh realities of the desert, lived nearer to the scrubland borders and lush tropical havens. The most infuriating were the peaceful, Sharians-be-damned Mystics.

Spike did not like them. He could not stand them. Their wishy-washy attitudes, magical bent, and 'connection to nature' - whatever that meant - it got right under his scales and brought his temper to a boil. He couldn't even pinpoint exactly why he felt the way that he did, just that he'd been raised to think poorly of them and had never yet had that opinion altered.

With the sky growing progressively darker, Mystic closed her eyes and tried to connect with the ground beneath her hooves. The sand made any sort of reading difficult, constantly shifting and brushing away her efforts at concentration, but she eventually sensed firmer ground only about a fifteen minute walk out of her way. Not bad at all. Where there was more substantial ground, there might be enough stability for some kind of shelter to have formed.

She really didn't enjoy the desert...

Heat was fine. Sleeping without proper shelter was not. She would just have to make the best of it, as she had last night and the one before. It just left her feeling so exposed after a life spent deep within the thick foliage of a cocooning forest. Whether it was the blanketing humidity of a jungle or the crisp earthy smells of a temperate region, she preferred to be surrounded by growing things. It made the Mystic within her so much happier.

These thoughts occupied her attention as she walked into the deepening twilight. Hooves sensed the change in ground texture before her mind fully registered it and she looked around, vainly hoping for some sort of rocky outcropping to spend the evening near. Once again, she called on her magic for help and was rewarded with a slightly stronger sense of her surroundings. Yes, just a few minutes more into the firmer ground, there might be something suitable!

Spike had reason to be proud of his little territory. Beyond the sheer fact that it was his and thus worth bloodying intruders over, it offered him excellent hunting options in an area with tricky prey. The rocks and burrows provided him with poisonous but tasty prey so long as he avoided the venom, and he could alternately sun or hide beneath His Rock, which sat near the center of his claimed space. Many other places offered convenient napping or sunning possibilities, but none were as perfectly suited to Samanayr life as His Rock, with a little enclosed area beneath to hide and await whatever came his way.

He would have been quite angered and confused to learn that the thing had originally been shaped by a desert Mystic, several decades prior, specifically for Samanayr habitation. As it was, he remained content and oblivious.

The encroaching dusk would soon lure various nocturnal creatures from their holes and burrows and hiding places, a nightly event that he eagerly awaited. His stomach reminded him that he'd caught nothing but a crunchy beetle the night before and that wasn't nearly enough to sustain him. He would have to find food tonight or risk weakening, which he could never afford to do. When a Sa'krien weakened, it may as well have signed its own fate. His mare's presence might grant him another day's grace, but fail to act on that period of reprieve and he would deserve whatever came his way. No, he needed to eat.

A quiet sound made his tiny ears perk among their bed of spikes and he became perfectly still, red eyes peering out into the darkness from beneath His Rock. The sound was too noticeable for one of the nightly scuttlers. They would have been much quieter. What was that? It sounded almost like... hooves. But Fang would have announced herself so that he didn't start planning an ambush.

So it wasn't Fang. Listening more closely, he finally decided that the sound had to be hooves. Which meant an intruder. A trespasser. His mouth opened, minuscule red needles hidden by the overhanging shadow, and waited. Whoever they were, they would soon learn the error of setting foot in a Sa'krien's territory.

Oh yes, that rock! It looked perfect! Mystic could spend the night sheltered beneath its little enclosure, the entrance to which she could just barely see. Something about the general shape and style of the stone reminded her of her grandmother, but she stayed mostly at the Oasis and rarely worked with rock. Then again, she would sometimes tell stories of her mother, also an Earth Mystic, who had preferred inanimate objects to living ones. The magic worked in odd ways sometimes.

She wasn't entirely unaware of the dangers presented by evening in the desert. She just more expected to run across a scorpion or a spider than anything else, and she hadn't heard any noises or songs to indicate there were other Samanayrs living nearby. Her desire for a comfortable place to sleep also overshadowed her natural caution, and her timid nature made it difficult for her to separate constant nerves with legitimate unease at times.

It was only when her power suddenly flared in her head, clairvoyant senses warning her a second too late of her predicament, that she shrieked. Her head made hard contact with the ground less than a second later.

A Mystic.

For the love of blood, a Mystic. Here. Approaching His Rock. Intruding on his territory. Trespassing on his lands. Wandering in like it owned the place, wispy strands swaying as it walked, green fur failing to blend with anything in a world of rock and grit.

No... that wasn't right. Not it. She. His hackles raised, consisting of an odd shiver as his scales itched, horns appearing to bristle as he simply lowered his head. A female Mystic, wandering free as you please over his lands. Oh, this wasn't going to stand. If Fang had been nearby, she probably would have torn the thing to pieces. That was what he should do, really. Tear her apart. Rip her limb from limb. Make her pay, in the worst way possible, for every injustice ever committed to a Sa'krien by anyone. If it had been a male, he almost certainly would have.

But, well, it wasn't. A male, that was. No, it was quite a pretty little she, her fluffy fur utterly impractical for the desert, her body soft and probably squishy from a life lived with access to abundant water. She was coated in a fine layer of dust from her travels, but he could practically smell the stink of rotting plants on her, at least in his mind. She was beautiful.

Her soft, earthy beauty offended him. He couldn't just outright kill her. Something in him rose to the challenge, the bloodlust common to his species, but something else fought it back. Normal, average, everyday lust. In a Sa'krien, though, when weren't the two combined?

There was a Song not far from where he lived, though far enough, with three of the creatures. Three! As if the magical arrogance of one wasn't enough, they had to congregate and gather and breed.

He leaped from concealment and attacked, his stumpy legs and low stature belying a quickness that had her on the ground and prone almost immediately. With a great deal of satisfaction, he took the plume of her tail in his mouth and dragged her backwards beneath His Rock.

The following day was a haze of pain and confusion for the mare. Did she have a concussion? It felt like it. She'd had a few before, mostly the result of tumbles during her years attempting tree-climbing. How ironic that her daughter had been born an Aboreal. Some part of her secretly felt that had something to do with it. She missed trees right now.

What was she doing? Was she supposed to be thinking about something? She ached all over. Her head felt dizzy, like she was trying to swim through quicksand. Her body ached too, further supporting the quicksand flight of fancy while some other part of her brain raced to catch up with itself. Where was she? What was she doing? Who was the Samanayr with the blood-red eyes and breath like a tomb? A dry tomb... arid. Everything felt dry. Some part of her wanted to sleep, while another kept insisting that she stay awake, and all the while she tried to fight the confusion caused by repeated blows to the head.

Could rocks swim? Had they always swum? Did her voice always sound that slow and sluggish, every word slurring in her mouth as it tried to escape before it became intelligible? She didn't think so.

Where was she?

Some time later - she couldn't have said how much - she found herself walking across sand. Had she always been walking? Had there always been sand? Was there nothing but sand, everywhere, forever? She tried calling out until her throat became too dry to manage it.

Finally, when she felt on the brink of collapse, she felt it somewhere within her. The place where her power dwelled sent her a flash of greenery, so bright and colorful that it almost stung her eyes. She would have cried out if she'd had the voice to do so. As it was, she stumbled and struggled to regain her footing.

That had been the future. A promise. Green, somewhere ahead of her, and it had felt cool and wet and welcoming. She just needed to walk a little longer and then she would be somewhere green, and maybe she could find a sip of water for her parched throat, a bit of food for her empty stomach, and somewhere that she could collapse without fear.

Except that she felt so afraid. Every time she thought of shade, she shivered with a mixture of terror and longing. She wanted to be out of the sun, and yet she feared it. Her head was still too muzzy for her to remember why, but it would come back with time, parts of it. The only thing she could remember then was... Spike.

She nearly sobbed. Who was Spike?

Again a cry caught in her throat and she closed her eyes tightly against any vestige of memory. She could think about it later. Some other time. Somewhere green.