youth of the nation

The further east she traveled, the more parched the lands seemed, until she was certain a drought was upon the area. Beneath her paws, the cracked earth seemed to crumble, ground into a fine dust that blew away in the slightest of breezes, infrequent as they were. Even the grass was dry and wilted, brittle strands of brownish yellow stalks beaten and bent by the unrelenting sun. Muses, not having anticipated such unbearable heat, looked westward, in the direction she had come from. There, the lands were over-ripe with foliage, swollen rivers and lakes easily breaching their confines to spill over and cause mass destruction and chaos. Nonetheless, compared to this heat, Muses thought she could deal with natural disasters.

This was different.

Her tongue hung heavy, draped over her chin as if weights had been attached to the tip, the saliva seeming to dry even before it had a chance to drip. It would have been wise to turn back, for such a thick furred beast was not made to wander parched plains. Yet she had already come so far, and could see a line of trees in the hazy distance. Surely those would be just as far to walk to.

With a deep sigh, she plodded a few steps, body swaying with disturbing uncertainty. She put her head down, trying to focus, but suddenly the ground beneath her became blurred and out of focus. She tried to shake her head to rid herself of the fog that had begun to creep in, but did little more than succeed in collapsing onto her side, the heat evaporating the last of her energy.