Sand. Her mortal enemy. But when one lives right smack dab in the middle of the desert like Sawyer did, well, you learn to adjust. Here she was, traipsing over the thick, golden, glorified dirt still a little warm from the sun’s brief morning appearance. And as the cub walked, tiny drops of brown began to grow in front of her. A sudden rain plowed down from the sky, like a silver sheet, and hit the sand (and Sawyer) with unimaginable force. “Eeek!” The cub yelped at the touch of that freezing cool water. In her desperate to escape the downpour, Sawyer ran further into the dunes. The storm left as quickly as it had appeared, although the heavy, gray clouds promised further retaliation. But when Sawyer stopped to catch her breath, she realized…she was shrinking. Or somehow the shrub in front of her was getting taller! It was only when she looked down at her feet that it finally hit her: she was being eaten alive by quicksand! “I HATE SAND” @Lazare "Speech" those ocean eyes

baby, you’re a haunted house

The rain does not bother her. The sand, neither.

She does not know how she got here. Her paws carried her easily, away from the bluffs and the watchful eyes who live there, away from the press of family. Here there is nothing but empty air and silence, the only sound the press of ground beneath her feet and a quiet rumbling of the incoming storm. Lazare blinks then, reality shifting -- and she realizes, with a start, that her fur is wet. soaked. the storm was already here....? The rain wasn't currently falling, so the storm must be rolling away....

Well.

It doesn't change much.

Still, she keeps forward. She was brought here for a reason, and she will find it. Unless of course the slip of dreams fall over her again, and she is whisked away helplessly --- A feminine voice, shouting, breaks that train of thought before it truly forms. And suddenly, a goal. Something tangible to discover. The dieudonne girl is delighted, padding forward with a newfound vigor.

@Sawyer is easily found -- struggling against the sand. Lazare blinks and blinks again, but there is no new information to be found. The girl is.... sinking into the sand. It is a slow churn but mesmerizing; it seems like a strange dream made real, and there is nothing that lazare is more familiar with than unreality. A quiet little chirrup leaves her throat, the sound husky with curiousity -- taking an inching step forward.

Ce qui se passe? What is happening? She asks, softly delicate -- too petite for the strange situation they find themselves in. Or, rather, that Sawyer finds herself in; lazare is still just a phantom.

better find another superstition!

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OOC: why are all our threads about your characters trying to save mine from their own stupidity xD A savior arrived, but when Sawyer’s gaze settled on the young cub’s delicate form, her heart sank further into the sands. There was no way she could pull her out of there, was there? Unless those soft features hid some sort of super-lion strength, Sawyer was done for. The worst part was when she began to speak in strange tongues, or perhaps she was only still babbling. Either way, the possibility of her asking for help was diminishing. Was it possible to mime when you’re ankle-deep in sand? Sawyer tried lifting a paw, and while she felt the ground beneath her shift, her balance fumble, she was not suddenly swallowed by the dunes as she had afeared. A shaky breath left her lips. Her paw stretched out towards the cub. “You,” Sawyer pointed at @Lazare, “go,” she pointed next at the direction towards Andal, “get help?” Here she just waved the paw erratically, it was all very Tarzanesque of her. You, Jane. Me, Tarzan. But without all the lovely music in the background. I think the most appropriate soundtrack would be that of a monkey circus. Perhaps she should’ve realized that Lazare was more than able to talk at her age, hell, Sawyer had been capable of talking when she was even younger! But that had been so long ago, and her knowledge of cubs and aging and basically most things in life was quite…meager. Let’s just hope she doesn’t choose to become a nursemaid in the future. I fear for those cubs. "Speech" those ocean eyes

baby, you’re a haunted house

OOC: Idk but I love it! <3 i promise that for our next thread, it'll be one of mine in danger >:)

Oh, she does understand words. The little princess is nothing if not smart. sharp. even though @Sawyer's answer does not come in the language she expects it to, there is still understanding -- even without the need for all that miming. She watches curiously though, the same way a cat might observe fish in an aquarium -- good-naturedly, with the tiniest bit of hunger.

aider? (help?) She repeats, clearly not understanding the why of it all. Why was the girl so concerned? An ear ticks forward as she glances around, seeing nothing overtly dangerous. It's not until she takes a step forward ( maybe Sawyer saw something different from her vantage point? ) and the ground shifts beneath her that she realizes. Her mistake is just a paw, and it's easy enough to take a step backwards. Back onto more solid sand. As for the other girl, well....

She could go get help, oui. She could, but she wouldn't. No, she is here now -- a curious crocodile, looming on the banks. Her lithe shoulders square, skinny frame tensing as she firmly decides. I will help you, she croons with a thick French accent, seemingly the first time she's bothered to speak in the common tongue. She is poised, ready -- perhaps not able, but certainly willing, teeth and claws primed.

better find another superstition!

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OOC: Deal! Sawyer couldn’t help but feel the weight of those eyes, almost clear, irises practically melding with the whites. Of course, she doesn’t understand the nature of that gaze, the sneaky little hunger that lies behind it. Instead…it’s that sort of feeling like you have something on your face or in your teeth. A smudge of dirt. A bit of spinach. Her face feels strange and heated. As if being caught sinking into the sand was something mortifying. Another strange word, but by this time Sawyer realizes it’s not babbling but an entirely different tongue. Like the ones other animals used to speak to each other. “I don’t understand,” she admits, almost ashamed, and it makes her cheeks feel on fire. As the child take that first step, she shouts, “No! Stop!” Sawyer instinctively goes to her, and in doing so sinks further into the quicksand. “Oh, birdpoop!” (did you really expect any child of Elswyth’s to know how to swear?) At least it seems the cub better self-preservation instincts than her, as she steps back to safety. Sawyer releases a breath she didn’t know she was holding. I will help you. So she did know common tongue! Sawyer can’t help but feel a little miffed at the fact that she’d let her make a fool of herself earlier, but whatever anger she had is quickly wiped away by the gurgle of the sand. She sinks a little deeper. “HELP!” @Lazare "Speech" those ocean eyes

baby, you’re a haunted house

Lazare cannot move forward.

The sand is slick, almost slippery -- visually, there is no difference between the kind that eats lions and the kind that doesn't. It makes this whole dream more dangerous; it makes this whole dream more real. lazare knows that dreams cannot hurt her ( she knows this more than anything else ), but it could still hurt @Sawyer. And there is something about the other girl that she likes, wants to keep.

And so, she will.

There is no other way this dream will end.

( she will not allow it. )

Inching forward, mismatched claws unsheathe and dig hold into the sand, whatever little grip it offers. Skinny frame lowers to thr ground below before her front left paw extends out -- reaching for Sawyer. Either to grab the other girl herself, or to offer something to climb up and across. Je ne te laisserai pas te noyer ~ ( I won't let you drown~ ) she says, a sing-song that absolutely does not match the desperation of their situation. But even as she speaks, her other paw extends out -- clearly putting those words to work.

better find another superstition!

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She knows little of mortality, but twice in her short life has it already tried to claim her. Once, when she was a babe, and wandered off for days far from her mother’s reach. And now, as the desert seeks to swallow her whole. Perhaps she shouldn’t have insulted the sand. Fear begins to trickle down into her stomach, and though the sinking has slowed, there is a definite clock ticking in back of Sawyer’s mind (an hourglass would’ve been too on the nose, don’t you think?). As the little girl before her stretches out her paw, she vows never, ever to return to this blasted place. That is…if she ever makes it out. “O-ok!” Sawyer responds, trembling, to the onslaught of words that just slipped from Lazare’s mouth. She takes the offered paw, and then the other and begins to kick as hard as she can. As if she were swimming, as if the sand were water. But it’s not, and her movements are rendered slow and weak. Her entire body feels heavy, like a sinking rock. She is made of stone, her heart of lead. Nothing seems to stand in the way of her and golden oblivion. Until, finally, with all her might, Sawyer kicks again. And it’s like the deserts spits her out, revolted, and she swings atop the safe, solid sand. Still holding onto @Lazare ’s forearms. Those blue eyes open suddenly. An eerie quiet takes over the badlands. It’s almost as if… “Are-are we dead?” "Speech" those ocean eyes

baby, you’re a haunted house

If she was anyone else, lazare might have worried. It was a weak plan at best, and Sawyer was in real danger. But to lazare, this was just something that was happening. She treated it with the casaukness that she treated everything else with. None of this was real, and so it didn't matter. Either the girl would grab hold and be pulled to ssfety.... or she wouldn't. And the outcome would be the same revsrdless.

Still, when she helps pull Sawyer free from the sand, theere is unfettered joy clanging in her iron-coated chest.

Both girls seem dazed as the dust settles. Finally Lazare lifts from where she had been laying, no longer needing to anchor herself. @Sawyer still clings to her and lazare does not object, finding some semblance of comfort in the feeling of being anchored; it makes her feel the sand beneath her a little firmer, makes the sun seeping warmth into her fur more tangible. She seeks to step closer to the girl, possibly looming over her as she stares down at the andal youth, blue seeking blue.

Dead? Non, (no) comes her petite little answer, voice lilting even as she rejects this notion. pas mort. mais.... hmm, rêver. Oui, juste un rêve. (not dead. but.... hmm, dreaming. Yes, just a dream.) Ecactly, that made more sense. Even if she's never shared a waking dream with a stranger before. It feels rude to point that out, though. Her smile is small but not kind, even as unfocused as it is. Just a dream. lazare says, and believes every word. Even still her ears tilt, still staring down ( unblinkingly ) at her newfound companion. Why? She asks, and means all of it. Why was Sawyer out here crawling in the sand?

Why were they sharing a dream?

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I hate sand. That’s the thought that clangs over and over in her head. Like a bunch of pots just mashing together. It’s a survival technique, one as old as time itself. Fear quickly becomes something else, something much more manageable. Righteous anger. If Sawyer didn’t have enough reasons to hate the grainy substance, now she definitely did. After all, it had just tried to EAT HER! Sawyer Skywalker had made not-so-new enemy. And perhaps…a new friend. The strange cub looms over her, a shadow crossing the burning blue of the sky (the clouds had slowly parted during their fight for survival), and speaks again. In that tongue that Sawyer doesn’t understand but has too little energy to swat it away, so that becomes a sibilant snake, a smooth milky, river sliding through her ears. In one and out the other. If I could paint an image for you, I’d say that Sawyer’s brain was one of those airport conveyer belts, and the French was the suitcases passing through it. And on the little X-Ray screen instead of seeing the suitcases and its contents all you see is a big fat blank. But hey, at least it’s pretty! Just a dream. This at least is in common tongue. Why? A dream? It felt so real. She’s still clutching onto @Lazare, like a castaway might clutch onto a piece of flotsam. Even she feels so real. Sawyer lets go and sits up, looking around the quick sands. Everything seems extraordinarily ordinary now. Like if nothing had ever happened. As if she hadn’t been half-way down the gullet of a ravenous beast mere moments ago. “I don’t know, it’s just…” Sawyer’s gaze flits around, before returning to those icy eyes, “it feels weirdly calm now.” Not enough drama for your almost death, huh? Still, she brightens up considerably. “I’m Sawyer. What’s your name?” “And why do you speak so weird?” "Speech" those ocean eyes

baby, you’re a haunted house

sawyer finally relents, letting go of Lazare’s paws. The loss of contact gives her pause, gaze lolling down to see her now-empty hands. Her paws clench tight before going slack once more, the feeling of floating returning without the gentle anchor. Hmm. She does not dwell on this -- there's too much else to focus on.

The dream shifts, expands; not unlike the sand below.

And yet now, there is only peace.

@Sawyer seems disquieted by it all, and for good reason. Yet that good reason does not occur to the little predator; instead, she blinks owlishly as the other girl speaks. It feels weirdly calm now? Dreams always do, she sing-songs with a bright little smile, laughter unfurling quietly behind her canine teeth. This, of all things, is the most truthful thing she's ever said; they always, always do.

She's known nothing else.

sawyer. the name seems funny to hear, lacking the French tilt she is so accustomed to. A strange thing to imagine; an even stranger girl to dream up. I am lazare dieudonne, I think. She murmurs absent-mindedly. Or should she have another name, too? The brunette quiets but nothing else comes to mind, and so she continues. c'est la façon dont ma famille parle - It is the way my family speaks. A pause, as her head tilts to the side considering, before her expression brightens -- and sharpens. You should speak it, too.

After all -- this was their dream.

better find another superstition!

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