Snippet #2759455

The walks back to her various camps were surprisingly mild. So long as she moved swiftly, the baser beasts of the Wilds wouldnt approach her, due to sheer fear. However, whether due to curiosity, hunger, or sheer chance, not everything avoided her. As few encounters in the Wilds are amicable, she quickly re-traced her steps. She'd gotten far in her mutated rage, to the edge of the swamplands, too far to make it back to her favorite camp.

Astrid still had some spices and potatoes that she'd purchased from Crow's Wallow traders, perhaps the long night called for a stew. High up in the tree-tops, asleep in her hammock, with a belly full of stew, that was where she needed to be. Hunting knife clutched in her right hand, and thoughts of dinner pre-occupying her mind, she almost mistook the sound of wings beating for a bird's. However they were deliberate, the sound of something large. Her ears perked up, and she swiveled around to face the source of the noise, teeth bared and hissing at the winged creature. Dryad?! All the air left her lungs in an impotent wheeze.

She sheathed her knife as a show of respect, not that it'd be of much use against the Dryad. A little respect cost only a bit of time and could possibly save her a lot of hassle. So she knelt, ready to fight or run as either need arose. Something else was moving not much further out. It shouldn't have stayed quiet for this long, not just from Astrid's rampage. There was something else that the animals were staying away from, she could feel it.

Faint screaming, someone fallen prey to the creatures lurking in the swamp, perhaps a gator. She didn't want to stay here for much longer, or a turf war might spring up. The Dryad had horns and was presumedly blind. Astrid's left hand tingled, the tiny sensation of her mutation. She tried to stop the feeling by squeezing that wrist with her right hand, which found limited success.

"Dryad! I've just finished hunting, as all nature does, I didn't mean to encroach. I was just leaving."

There was no telling what you would find in the Wilds anymore. Everything kept fighting to stay on top of the pile, any niche they could carve out to survive. At this point most Dryads were basically wrath personified, and Astrid tried her best not to attract their ire.