Post by Deleted on Jan 20, 2019 1:06:22 GMT -6
It was a dream; she still had the faintest acknowledgment that it was just that. Yet, it always felt so real.
Intense temperatures baked the vivid land.
Like a casual fire, humidity from the weather slithered through the world of the K'Narthian rainforest. Its heat touched every inch of the amazing jungle and left no crevice undiscovered in its relentless battle to claim everything. The temperature soared for the jungle, reaching a staggering high of 118° Fahrenheit as the day progressed and the sun flew higher into the clear blue sky. Rays from the mammoth ball of yellow cooked and baked the earth, not dissimilar from the effects of a mud ball in a tanning salon. Dry earth certainly marked some area of the magnificent land, but it was not called a rainforest for its lack of water.
While no clouds would come until night to quench the thirst of the land, steam clouds made up the rebellion against the repressive forces of heat. They lubricated the parched trees and moistened the coarse shrubs. Not a leaf was left unkissed by the kind lips of the steam, and the plants of the jungle were thankful to be given a chance for existence. Their plants flowed freely even under the assault of the sun, and vividly colored fruit grew in unimaginable sizes.
The infinite number animals in the jungle were just as fortunate as the plants, overheated as they were this day. Gango Sloths needed to have moisture in the air--sleeping just wasn't the same when your tree caught on fire. Violet Macaws were pleased with the constant supply of steam in the air, keeping their nests from becoming ovens for their eggs. They ignored the neverending calls of their unruly neighbors, the rustubel monkeys who seated themselves at the highest parts of their trees to feel a sense of superiority and volume. They hooted down at the giant tusked G'ar boar that passed but kept silent when a sleek, starving Fig leopard prowled after the scent of the brown coated pigs. On occasions, a few striped peacocks, and peahens squawked their way across the jungle floor. Their fairly slow gait made them easy chicken dinner for the likes of leopards, but they weren't the only predators that favored their poultry meat. If some got close enough then a big cat was a likely outcome, but straying near an occupied water source could lead to a cave dwelling caiman’s lunch. Ground dwellings often resulted in large lizards snacking upon startled peacocks, so a few of their genus would rightly assume that trees were safe places. Or, any creature for that matter.
It’s what made them so easy to hunt. To collect a few of their bodies, one would only have to search for their plumage in the trees and dispatch them with arrows. From there, it was the simple task of using boiling water to help remove the feathers and a knife to aid in the task of skinning the whole thing. Interestingly enough, the skin of striped peacocks was perfect bait for attracting Proicies Salmon that swam upstream at this time of year. All it took was a little piece to eventually create a swarm of nibbling fish and a good profit from their bodies soon after. It was what she did when she fished in the past and it was what she would do soon enough.
She looked up in time to spot a few small monkeys leaping over her head, boredly eyeing them as they disappeared off behind her to do who knows what. Her brown orbs resettled on the river just ahead of her, nonchalantly half lidded as she approached the muddy banks. The clay was deep; deep enough to kiss her red painted toes with frigid moisture through her sandals. The leather of her sandals was already coated with a thin layer of dried mud as it was, along with the lower edges of her black Lehenga from previous rainy days. The grey smears dirtied the bronze symbols that lined the ends, the ones that curled this way and that like twirling fireworks. It used to compliment the golden jewelry that sat snugly around her comely hips, the one connected to the subtle curve of her navel piercing. It used to be a nice addition to the blood red crop that covered her torso and left her arms bare, patterned with so many intricate designs in bronze. She wore it all anyway, despite the condition.
She paused to push her shimmering black lockes out of the way again, then got back to work on tugging her small cart across the dirt path in the jungle. One might find it unheard of for someone of her looks and attire to be hauling a heavy cart around as easily as dragging paper behind her. But this was just another day of business making. And given how much fish and poultry she'd collected this time around--business was more than enough motivation to pull the cart around.
A small smile graced her dark lips when rolling thunder was heard.
The dusty old temple sat and waited, as always.
Intense temperatures baked the vivid land.
Like a casual fire, humidity from the weather slithered through the world of the K'Narthian rainforest. Its heat touched every inch of the amazing jungle and left no crevice undiscovered in its relentless battle to claim everything. The temperature soared for the jungle, reaching a staggering high of 118° Fahrenheit as the day progressed and the sun flew higher into the clear blue sky. Rays from the mammoth ball of yellow cooked and baked the earth, not dissimilar from the effects of a mud ball in a tanning salon. Dry earth certainly marked some area of the magnificent land, but it was not called a rainforest for its lack of water.
While no clouds would come until night to quench the thirst of the land, steam clouds made up the rebellion against the repressive forces of heat. They lubricated the parched trees and moistened the coarse shrubs. Not a leaf was left unkissed by the kind lips of the steam, and the plants of the jungle were thankful to be given a chance for existence. Their plants flowed freely even under the assault of the sun, and vividly colored fruit grew in unimaginable sizes.
The infinite number animals in the jungle were just as fortunate as the plants, overheated as they were this day. Gango Sloths needed to have moisture in the air--sleeping just wasn't the same when your tree caught on fire. Violet Macaws were pleased with the constant supply of steam in the air, keeping their nests from becoming ovens for their eggs. They ignored the neverending calls of their unruly neighbors, the rustubel monkeys who seated themselves at the highest parts of their trees to feel a sense of superiority and volume. They hooted down at the giant tusked G'ar boar that passed but kept silent when a sleek, starving Fig leopard prowled after the scent of the brown coated pigs. On occasions, a few striped peacocks, and peahens squawked their way across the jungle floor. Their fairly slow gait made them easy chicken dinner for the likes of leopards, but they weren't the only predators that favored their poultry meat. If some got close enough then a big cat was a likely outcome, but straying near an occupied water source could lead to a cave dwelling caiman’s lunch. Ground dwellings often resulted in large lizards snacking upon startled peacocks, so a few of their genus would rightly assume that trees were safe places. Or, any creature for that matter.
It’s what made them so easy to hunt. To collect a few of their bodies, one would only have to search for their plumage in the trees and dispatch them with arrows. From there, it was the simple task of using boiling water to help remove the feathers and a knife to aid in the task of skinning the whole thing. Interestingly enough, the skin of striped peacocks was perfect bait for attracting Proicies Salmon that swam upstream at this time of year. All it took was a little piece to eventually create a swarm of nibbling fish and a good profit from their bodies soon after. It was what she did when she fished in the past and it was what she would do soon enough.
She looked up in time to spot a few small monkeys leaping over her head, boredly eyeing them as they disappeared off behind her to do who knows what. Her brown orbs resettled on the river just ahead of her, nonchalantly half lidded as she approached the muddy banks. The clay was deep; deep enough to kiss her red painted toes with frigid moisture through her sandals. The leather of her sandals was already coated with a thin layer of dried mud as it was, along with the lower edges of her black Lehenga from previous rainy days. The grey smears dirtied the bronze symbols that lined the ends, the ones that curled this way and that like twirling fireworks. It used to compliment the golden jewelry that sat snugly around her comely hips, the one connected to the subtle curve of her navel piercing. It used to be a nice addition to the blood red crop that covered her torso and left her arms bare, patterned with so many intricate designs in bronze. She wore it all anyway, despite the condition.
She paused to push her shimmering black lockes out of the way again, then got back to work on tugging her small cart across the dirt path in the jungle. One might find it unheard of for someone of her looks and attire to be hauling a heavy cart around as easily as dragging paper behind her. But this was just another day of business making. And given how much fish and poultry she'd collected this time around--business was more than enough motivation to pull the cart around.
A small smile graced her dark lips when rolling thunder was heard.
The dusty old temple sat and waited, as always.
