Wasteland

Pythia was on a mission. Her brothers had told her about a fungus that they’d found. It supposedly made them feel silly upon ingesting it. No matter how dangerous it sounded or could have been, Pythia wanted some for herself. Going out so far alone wasn’t the best idea, but she would manage. Really, she needed to get herself a seeing eye companion, but none of the animals had really called to her yet.

Plucking her way through the mucky swamp, the musty and oddly sweet scent of fungi caught her attention. All around her, the swamp seemed to sing a symphony that was both harrowing and melodic. Soothing and tortuous. Enjoying the sounds as she sniffed at the bunch of fungi, deciding whether it was good enough for her to pick, she was startled when the swamp around her suddenly stopping creating a cacophony of noise.

With a mushroom between her teeth, she lifted her head, nose tasting the air and ears listening when she hears someone else walking nearby. Her fur instinctually bristles, puffing herself up to appear larger than she is. Tall as she may be, she’s lithe and sleek, extremely feminine and lacking the muscle definition to appear intimidating. No, Pythia was frightening in her own ways.

“Who goes there?” She calls out in her haunting tones, a commanding rasp that was both ethereal and spine tingling.

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