Sand.

He hated sand, honestly. He hadn't before, hadn't had the mind for it, but he had been walking for what felt like days through nothing but sand. Dunes as far as the eye could see, hills that seemed to shift whenever you looked away, ground inconsistent, burning at his paws, and little grains getting kicked up into his fur every time he stumbled just a bit.

Go away, they said to him, pushing him out, quite literally. We don't want you, they hadn't said - but he knew they wanted to. They never did. He was some sort of reminder of the mistakes they made, or something. He wasn't half a year old, and he was already kicked out of his house - if he were a spectator and not a broken-hearted child, surely it would have been almost comical to him. But a spectator he was not, and his heart certainly felt broken. A vase, pushed off the ledge to shatter.

They never wanted him, no. But at least he could hope to improve, to change their mind, somehow. At least there was some hope. Now, it seemed like he would die out here. He wasn't even half a year old, and he was trekking through the desert, pace sluggish, stumbling, every muscle fiber in his body wanting to give in to the heat and be swept under a rug of coarse, scorching sand. If he were another cat, perhaps he would have died. But another cat he was not. He was himself, and even if his parents didn't want him, he would still live.

Out of fear, if nothing else.

When he finally saw the jungle in the distance, he almost fell over out of sheer awe. If he knew curses, he would have used them, and if he knew any god, he would have blessed them. It looked so lush, so verdant, compared to the desolate hellhole he traipsed through, a pitch black smudge against the blaring light of the sand. So close, he was so close. Just a little bit farther. One foot in front of the other.

It wasn't the sand he hated, he thought, to distract from the ache of his muscles, the burning of his pads and his body, how he was starting to get dazed, how he felt as if his body would start falling apart any moment. He wasn't really advanced enough mentally to understand the concept of self hate, but he felt it, inside himself. A hate for his parents that would likely subside, eventually; not because it should pass, not because his parents were innocent people, but because he was a child.

As the child reached the very edge of the forest, he stumbled, crashing down into a blanket of foliage. It was still hot here, but it was much more humid than he was expecting. That was good, at least. A nice thought, to ease him. Would he die here, so close to his goal? So close to finding food, which undoubtedly lurked in the dank foliage? Would he die a failure?

The kit, ragged, lifted his head, and with all of his strength left in him, he called out, "Help," in the raspy voice of someone dehydrated. He couldn't tell if it was loud enough to call anyone to him. He couldn't tell if anyone even lived here. All he could do was try his damnedest to keep his lids from falling, to stave off death one moment at a time.

tags - "speech"

As the kit looked up into the hazel eyes of the fox that had greeted him - saved him, really, even if she wasn't doing the heavy lifting - and as he saw the fire in her eyes, he wondered if she really cared. He didn't describe himself as a pessimist - his brain was too small to be thinking about philosophy, for now - but he had to wonder why she was doing it. He was always told that there was no such thing as a free meal, that everyone wanted something. What did she want? It didn't have to be material, of course. He knew what he wanted (besides water), after all, and it wasn't exactly something you could just hand over to someone else. With raspy breath, the pure-green eyed kit said, "Thank you," to his mysterious benefactor. Aine was a name he would remember, for as long as he could.

He was lucky. He knew that much. It was only by pure luck that someone as worthless as him managed to survive such a journey, such a travel, even though he almost didn't. It was most certainly luck that brought these people over. People, yes - there were two now, a counterpart to the small fox, someone whose appearance distracted him from questioning the moral characters of these characters.

He was... beautiful.

Not in the typical sense, no, he was far too young to be having those sorts of thoughts about anyone. But he was beautiful to Abathur. A hybrid between two completely incompatible creatures, his brain began racing, trying to figure out the how, the why, the chain of events that led to this existing, and especially it existing concurrently with him. Abathur had so many questions, if he survived to see the next day. At least now he had another reason to do so - and a distraction from things that weighed him down.

He was picked up by the gat then, and he could feel his consciousness slipping far far away. Forget his lack of water, he could barely think straight anymore - the fact that Vox made such an offhanded comment was offensive, frankly. He may not be the smartest, but he did know things. He had an interest in biology and medicine, despite his youth. Even without that he still had the common sense to know that talking wasn't a good idea when breathing was hard. Some people, he swore to his own mind, this delirious train of thought the only thing keeping him awake.

He didn't even have the energy to thank his savior.

tags - "speech"

Better to be hurt by the truth than comforted by a lie -
♕tags-powers♕

[sub][W]isker[/sub]

So much to take in here - the satyr whose back he rode upon was shifting him around, and then there was a very big black cat - Kydobi, whose name he didn't really know, was beautiful as well. There was so much worry and tension in his form, sleek, probably constructed from many battles, or any tenuous physical exercise. Again, his thoughts of beauty were not so much aesthetic or carnal, but scientific - though even if he could talk freely, he was not like to do so. A loose tongue in these matters offered him quite the beating in the past, verbal or otherwise.

The talk of water began to make his dry mouth all the more present in his mind, and so the kit opened his mouth to speak. It was usually unlike him to ask for much, but his body was pushing his mind to ignore restrictions of policy. "Please... hurry," the melanistic kit mewled softly, hoping that wasn't too much of a demand. The winged goat was already moving very fast, but soon he would lose consciousness, and he didn't know if he could hold onto his life if that were to happen. He was a fighter, for sure, but he had already been fighting death for what felt like days to him - and the endurance match between him, a young kitten, and the eternal force of death was not exactly tipped in his favor.

The talk about low food stores did make him fret, however. "Sorry," he mumbled after Redvox spoke again, though he didn't really expect an answer back. In his pained silence, he began to dread the possibility that he would be left for dead because he was being pushy.

That was a stupid thought, obviously, but his brain was dry and dusty, and he was a child regardless; maintaining his anxieties was difficult.

tags - "speech"

A fourth appeared, and the pattern continued. If everybody that lived here was as fascinating as those that saved him... well, he might not be able to help himself from his awfully studious habits, should he stay there.

He had never seen someone so large as the beast before him, nor something with so many eyes, with so deep a voice. Fear spiked in his mind, but it was deeply overshadowed by the pure awe he felt, striking him to his heart. The creature that carried him was fascinating, yes, but this new one was something so alien, so otherworldly, that it would have left him breathless, had he any breaths in the first place. It was something Above, he felt, this reptilian creature in a purely different category - and this Above thing was offering him water, like an angel. Perhaps that was what it was - an angel, a being of the heavens. Abathur did so enjoy the idea of being special enough to warrant a deific creature, even as he told himself that it was impossible.

Assuming the gat he sat upon would allow him, the kit would thirstily gulp from the proffered canteen, letting the feeling of water soothe him at last, drinking as much as he could in a few gulps and pulling away only when he felt he could talk - or rather, should talk. He was oh so curious as to why these people were helping him, after all, though primarily, he just had to thank them.

"Thank you," he rasped, sounding more an aged old man than a small child. His eyes, now fully open, flicked from the Above-being, to the gat carrying him, to the one who joined him, and finally to Aine, who likely saved him from death altogether. Now that he wasn't exclusively trying to stay conscious, one could fully see his eyes - they were a bright green, lacking sclera and pupils, looking more insectoid than mammal. It was a bizarre and off-putting feature for most, and he often got rude stares or comments, but he could hardly think about hiding them when there was so much here to see. "Where... am I?" he asked, innocent despite the quality of his voice, which held a small tremor within it. Of fear, perhaps, or just exhaustion. Whatever it was, it indicated that he was still out of sorts.

A drink never solved all one's problems, unfortunately.

tags - "speech"