Fall 18, 513 AV morning
Wearing human skin, dressed in human clothes, Khida set out from the camp and made her way not towards the city, but out into the grasses. She had her thin rope, cut into useful lengths and tucked into her belt; she had her knife in its sheath, too, though for all the sharpness of its edge the tool afforded no likely protection. If trouble found her, Khida's safety would lie with her senses and the falcon's wings, not any human gear she carried. She walked outwards with no clear destination in mind, only a general direction. After getting some distance away from the camp, she turned and changed course, ears straining to detect sounds, eyes scrutinizing the earth around her. Tracks, trails, glimpses of motion, the holes of creature burrows -- Khida sought anything which might lead her to likely places for snares, for all that those sometimes seemed more trouble than they were rightly worth.
Her human eyes saw what seemed so little -- in their reduced acuity relative to the falcon's, in the inconvenience of being confined to the earth, in the slowness of human footsteps. Oh, there was grass, and rocks, and soil; she saw her own feet and hands just fine. She could see the sky arcing above, the fluff of clouds blown past by the loftiest of lofty winds. But Khida walked for what felt like very long chimes without seeing anything move, without hearing anything but the rustle of her own motion through the grass. Surely the falcon's eyes would have spotted something interesting by now.
There was grass, long of stalk and dull of color, its top bent over under the weight of its own seeds. Roots matted the earth, keeping it firm under her sandaled feet. Sometimes there were the odd green shapes of leaves belonging to things not grass, strikingly out of place in the monotonous pattern of vertical stalks. But she saw no mice, no hares, no prairie dogs, no grouse -- not even finches or jays. Nothing of interest whatsoever -- not until the grass ahead of her abruptly thinned, going from a dense forest to a sparse screen to broken and bent, seedheads cropped away and stalks chewed down. Flying, Khida could have seen the signs from far away; afoot, the sudden respite came very nearly as a surprise.
It couldn't be termed clear, not in the way the sky was clear, but there was a considerable difference between the tall density of undisturbed stalks and this mixed stippling of full-height and bent or eaten grass. |
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