Heavy jungle rain seems to pummel her eyes as she stumbles through the undergrowth of the forest. Nearly three suns come and gone without food or a wash, the scrawny miqo'te stumbles over a tree's root into the mud.Â
"Grnnh..." she growls, lifting herself up with two arms that seem little more than bone and a thin, stringy layer of shaking muscle. Gritting her teeth, she spits out mud and wipes her eyes with the back of a callused hand. Her face is riddled with small knife scars, most notably one across her right cheek that follows across the bridge of her nose.
She leans against the tree, rain pounding against her with a weight that seems heavier than a buffalo to her, in her current state. Dirt and grime trickles down from her short-cropped hair, dirtying her face again. She seems to be trying with the last of her strength to hold back tears from joining the rain.
For a moment, the rain seems to grow louder, and louder, and... like wheels rolling fast over a stony path. Her ears fly straight up.Â
A road!
With a burst of strength, she sprints toward the sound, unthinking. She runs, feeling the muddy ground through her worn-out caligae. She leaps through a thick line of vegetation to stumble to a halt on a narrow road bordering the sea. The carriage she had heard jostles along ahead of her, ten yalms away. She can see two figures riding along, drawn by two chocobo.
In a half-starved frenzy, she reaches for her tomahawk and jerks her arm back, aiming for one of the rear wheels. The sweet scent of fresh fish fills her nose as she hurls the makeshift weapon at the cart with desperation. Her other hand moves to ready a knife strung to her belt.
"Grnnh..." she growls, lifting herself up with two arms that seem little more than bone and a thin, stringy layer of shaking muscle. Gritting her teeth, she spits out mud and wipes her eyes with the back of a callused hand. Her face is riddled with small knife scars, most notably one across her right cheek that follows across the bridge of her nose.
She leans against the tree, rain pounding against her with a weight that seems heavier than a buffalo to her, in her current state. Dirt and grime trickles down from her short-cropped hair, dirtying her face again. She seems to be trying with the last of her strength to hold back tears from joining the rain.
For a moment, the rain seems to grow louder, and louder, and... like wheels rolling fast over a stony path. Her ears fly straight up.Â
A road!
With a burst of strength, she sprints toward the sound, unthinking. She runs, feeling the muddy ground through her worn-out caligae. She leaps through a thick line of vegetation to stumble to a halt on a narrow road bordering the sea. The carriage she had heard jostles along ahead of her, ten yalms away. She can see two figures riding along, drawn by two chocobo.
In a half-starved frenzy, she reaches for her tomahawk and jerks her arm back, aiming for one of the rear wheels. The sweet scent of fresh fish fills her nose as she hurls the makeshift weapon at the cart with desperation. Her other hand moves to ready a knife strung to her belt.
