Pripyat can come in here, too, if you think Geneva wouldn't have a reason to leave him alone.
There was a disgusting stench wafting through the air, clinging to trees, in the ground, dripping from every nook and cranny. It was familiar by now, as Bindu had been swimming through it for hours and hours. The smell made her want to vomit, or to run away to the comfort of the shore of the ocean, where the smells were diluted with that of salt water and fishies. The scent was in her blood, the teen knew, so she could never run from it, but the notion of being a part of this ... being a wolf ... didn't make her feel better, it made her feel significantly worse. Nose wrinkled, dark eyes locked in a squint, she traveled wearily along the dirt bed of the earth and wished that she would find this thing, this wolf pack, that would give her help, soon. On the other paw, maybe she would find wolves that were not so friendly, wolves like that icky one she had encountered a few days (weeks months years) ago.
In that case, Bindu wasn't sure if she even wanted help. Maybe that cat (what was his name, name, black cat green eyes) was wrong. Maybe wolves were only nice to cats and not dogs with wolfish blood (but he said they were hostile and she was hostile he was right he could be right). In any case -encounter or retreat-, the teen's body knew that it needed a break from the aching largo tempo. She stopped and sat down, dark eyes wandering around in a dull kind of way. The wolfdog had entered another smelly territory a few hours (days weeks months) ago, and she was hopelessly lost. The only element keeping her from the claws of the wolves undoubtedly around was the fact that her scent was so mottled. Her ugly fur had no saliva on it, no care, and smelled like dirt and leaves and dead things. A strong smell, but a natural one. Bindu had also been walking near a river, (a close copy of the ocean) which made her poignant perfume more subtle.
It was the afternoon. The light of day shone through a few trees, blended green and yellow. It looked like a puzzle on the ground, with the colors mixing in some places and having sharp edges to them in others. The sky was blue. A few clouds floated up there, though they only just peeked out from behind the treetops. The grass was a normal dark green, and the dirt an earthy dun. Sitting there, Bindu should have been relaxed. However, her body was so tired and thin that it was hard to feel anything but exhaustion. The fear that had bubbled up in Inferni territory had cooled down to a lukewarm unease. Any emotion was hard to distinguish, and, like the light on the ground, mashed together to form a gray, lumpy thing in the pit of the teen's stomach. It felt weird.
Bindu didn't know why she carried on, why she hadn't tucked her tail between her legs at the sharp words of the black wolf and fled back to the sea. No, she had followed the skull line, into some hilly things, and back south into a mushy place with muddy ground and strange noises. Southeast, southwest, south south south. Bindu knew she had to go south- had the cat told her that? South-something. There was a wolf pack south, and there was help and food and warmth there as well. That was the reason for continuing; help. It had been hard to tear away from the ocean line (follow the ocean, Bindu, important ocean follow ocean). But there was help in the southeast- that was the reason she continued, and so she reminded herself, but in pictures and not words. Images of lizard and lean feathery birds and squirrels blew into the hybrid's mind. This was her strength. Yes, she carried on for help and food and warmth.
The teen looked a mess. Her fur was bound in narrow matted strips where it was feathered- behind the ears and near the base of the tail, namely. The rest of her pelt was caked in mud and icky things. It was clumped together in some parts, and in other parts it had fallen out or thinned because of gradually healing scars (some of which had bravely won the fight against infection). Dark bags pooled underneath her dark eyes, which were also a little puffy. And itchy. One of her paws -maybe all, though the right forepaw was the worst)- made tongues of fire whenever stepped on, but the pain was getting easier to ignore. Odd tremors often racked Bindu's narrow body, odd because she was usually very warm. Hot, even. And her red paisley bandana, once so pretty and clean, was ripped (fix it it's important fix fix fix). It gave the illusion of a gaping neck wound when viewed from far away. Fortunately, the leather band beneath it was in good shape. Bindu was ugly, ugly ugly. She felt it in her bones. Ugly images came to her, ugly hunger consumed her body, ugly pain and ugly blood.
And one hecka ugly smell was choking her nose.
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