Lithuania opened her eyes.
Her back was sore, her hands were cold and numb, and she felt like she hadn’t showered for days. Sleeping all night in her wet clothes had left her with an uncomfortable feeling—like she had just woken from a fever. She had finally made it to the woods and found a nook between two massive tree roots where she could spend the night. But the night was indistinguishable from the day. She looked around her in the hopes that she might catch some sunlight, somewhere, perhaps trickling its way down through the thick canopies of the trees above. There was nothing—only darkness, gloom, and a peculiar sensation that something was not right. To make matters worse, her watch, her GPS, even her compass, all had gone haywire since the crash landing into Luscious Locks.
Lithuania sat up, bearing an uncomfortably heavy feeling in her chest. A depression of sorts— a discomfort at remembering that she was in fact awake, and alive, unlike everybody else in her troop. Unlike Marco.
But comrades died all the time when in battle. There was nothing unusual about it, at all. She should have known that. But that was just the thing—she hadn’t been prepared for battle, at least not when she set flight for LusciousLocks. She had expected difficult weather, aimless LusciousLockians drooling at the mouth—she had expected to prepare the citizens for intravenous feeding, to prepare the country for all the foreign aid it was about to receive. To investigate why contact had broken between Foggistan and the troops who were already there. But she hadn’t psychologically prepared for death.
And least of all the death of him…
Lithuania closed her eyes tight and took a deep breath. She was master of herself, and she could overcome this feeling. Though all she wanted to do was lie down between the tree roots and disappear, rot away like the autumn leaves, get eaten away by the worms and disappear forever—though an existence without Marco seemed to border along an existence without water, without air, without light—she had to keep on going, for the sake of Foggistan. For the sake of Coralende.
She rose to her feet, contrary to her body’s desires. She had no idea where to go, she had no idea what to do, and she knew there was hardly anything she wanted to do. The thought of Marco being alive, back when she heard his voice at the encounter with the trumpeting monster, had set something rushing through her. It had given her hope. But that glimmer of hope had quickly been pitched against Lithuania’s reason, and lost. Now all she felt was weight. Gravity. Heaviness.
She trudged along. Without the guidance of the sun, or the stars, and without any of her gadgets, her sense of direction was severely hampered. Not to mention the hunger, which she had until now suppressed. Still, she had been trained for situations like these. She knew there were several leaves out there she could feed on. She knew that if there were rabbits nearby, she’d be able to hunt them. Plus, the air was moist, and the rain so frequent, it wouldn’t be difficult for her to collect water using some of the larger leaves from all the nearby tropical plants. And she could possibly get a rough idea as to what direction to head in by observing what side of the trees the moss was growing on. Determined, she pulled out her knife—
“Lithuania!”
Lithuania whirled around, her knife ready for the kill. For an instant she felt the world blur around her—she felt her spirit float, or detach itself from her body somehow—and a second later all was normal again. The world regained its clarity, and standing before her was a Foggistani foot soldier.
“Lithuania, are you OK?” he asked, approaching her cautiously. Lithuania lowered her guard, and shook her head confusedly.
“I—I must be hungrier than I thought, or something,” she stammered, clearing her eyes.
“Hungry?” His tone suggested he had seen Lithuania suffer more than just a headrush. “Are you aware of what just happened to you?”
Lithuania looked at his helmet-covered face, perplexed. “I crashed into LusciousLocks?”
“I mean right now. You just blurred, or something. Like you were disappearing—or splitting into two, I couldn’t really tell. Are— Are you alright?”
Lithuania looked at him seriously, doubting whether he was really OK. “Remove your helmet so I may see your face,” she commanded, regaining her composure. Though she was thrilled to see another Foggistani, the knowledge of her reputation and title quickly overcame her.
The man removed his helmet.
It was Felix Sombrero.
Her back was sore, her hands were cold and numb, and she felt like she hadn’t showered for days. Sleeping all night in her wet clothes had left her with an uncomfortable feeling—like she had just woken from a fever. She had finally made it to the woods and found a nook between two massive tree roots where she could spend the night. But the night was indistinguishable from the day. She looked around her in the hopes that she might catch some sunlight, somewhere, perhaps trickling its way down through the thick canopies of the trees above. There was nothing—only darkness, gloom, and a peculiar sensation that something was not right. To make matters worse, her watch, her GPS, even her compass, all had gone haywire since the crash landing into Luscious Locks.
Lithuania sat up, bearing an uncomfortably heavy feeling in her chest. A depression of sorts— a discomfort at remembering that she was in fact awake, and alive, unlike everybody else in her troop. Unlike Marco.
But comrades died all the time when in battle. There was nothing unusual about it, at all. She should have known that. But that was just the thing—she hadn’t been prepared for battle, at least not when she set flight for LusciousLocks. She had expected difficult weather, aimless LusciousLockians drooling at the mouth—she had expected to prepare the citizens for intravenous feeding, to prepare the country for all the foreign aid it was about to receive. To investigate why contact had broken between Foggistan and the troops who were already there. But she hadn’t psychologically prepared for death.
And least of all the death of him…
Lithuania closed her eyes tight and took a deep breath. She was master of herself, and she could overcome this feeling. Though all she wanted to do was lie down between the tree roots and disappear, rot away like the autumn leaves, get eaten away by the worms and disappear forever—though an existence without Marco seemed to border along an existence without water, without air, without light—she had to keep on going, for the sake of Foggistan. For the sake of Coralende.
She rose to her feet, contrary to her body’s desires. She had no idea where to go, she had no idea what to do, and she knew there was hardly anything she wanted to do. The thought of Marco being alive, back when she heard his voice at the encounter with the trumpeting monster, had set something rushing through her. It had given her hope. But that glimmer of hope had quickly been pitched against Lithuania’s reason, and lost. Now all she felt was weight. Gravity. Heaviness.
She trudged along. Without the guidance of the sun, or the stars, and without any of her gadgets, her sense of direction was severely hampered. Not to mention the hunger, which she had until now suppressed. Still, she had been trained for situations like these. She knew there were several leaves out there she could feed on. She knew that if there were rabbits nearby, she’d be able to hunt them. Plus, the air was moist, and the rain so frequent, it wouldn’t be difficult for her to collect water using some of the larger leaves from all the nearby tropical plants. And she could possibly get a rough idea as to what direction to head in by observing what side of the trees the moss was growing on. Determined, she pulled out her knife—
“Lithuania!”
Lithuania whirled around, her knife ready for the kill. For an instant she felt the world blur around her—she felt her spirit float, or detach itself from her body somehow—and a second later all was normal again. The world regained its clarity, and standing before her was a Foggistani foot soldier.
“Lithuania, are you OK?” he asked, approaching her cautiously. Lithuania lowered her guard, and shook her head confusedly.
“I—I must be hungrier than I thought, or something,” she stammered, clearing her eyes.
“Hungry?” His tone suggested he had seen Lithuania suffer more than just a headrush. “Are you aware of what just happened to you?”
Lithuania looked at his helmet-covered face, perplexed. “I crashed into LusciousLocks?”
“I mean right now. You just blurred, or something. Like you were disappearing—or splitting into two, I couldn’t really tell. Are— Are you alright?”
Lithuania looked at him seriously, doubting whether he was really OK. “Remove your helmet so I may see your face,” she commanded, regaining her composure. Though she was thrilled to see another Foggistani, the knowledge of her reputation and title quickly overcame her.
The man removed his helmet.
It was Felix Sombrero.
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