WC: 287
Colibri inhaled deeply, the cold mountain air stinging her nostrils. She held it for a moment, calming herself, before slowly exhaling between parted lips. She was lucky to be alive. Her muzzle was still crusted with blood from the chafed laceration, as were her bruised wrists and ankles. Her Optime frame was gaunt, malnourished and atrophied from months of captivity. It would take some time to heal.
She inhaled again, trying to savor the taste of freedom. It was hard to feel optimistic, though. She had wasted a year of her life trying to find herself, wandering in complete and utter solitude across the wild north. All she had learned was what she already knew; she was hopeless, she ruined everything good in her life, she was a coward. Then she had been captured. She became a prisoner, an even more pitiable and wretched creature, forced to travel all the way back to where she had started. She exhaled, ruefully massaging her raw wrists. They ached as though they were still bound together. The scars would never fully disappear.
Coli inhaled a third time, icy blue eyes scanning the rugged mountain. She needed to find sustenance. It would take too much energy to hunt prey, but she was not too proud to scavenge. And once she found something to eat, she wanted to sleep forever. She had never experienced this kind of exhaustion or pain when she had lived in Crimson Dreams, or Dahlia de Mai, or in her vague puppyhood memories of Clouded Tears. The safety of a pack had been something her naive mind had taken for granted. She would not make that mistake again. She would not drop her guard again, even now. Exhale.
