[Feint]

A little red fenling skimmed lightly over the baking sand, unaffected by the sun's rage or turbulent ground. He was an unique fenling, similar to a cursed one, yet missing the small wing spikes and donned fewer stripes on his pelt. The only visible features on his face were his eyes, nearly circular white orbs that never seemed to blink. The almost void eyes were as hypnotic as Iilumiel's children, the Temples, but not so dangerous for he had no desire to bend others to his will.

The fenling ran level, his four long tails sailing out behind him like black and red kites. He loped over barren dunes, completely alone save a rag doll shaped like a cat. She had obviously been a well-loved toy--threadbare, patched, stained, dirty, missing buttons, faded, and the once pure white belly turned to a horribly grey off-white. She was clamped quite firmly in the little fenling's jaws, as if he feared she would be lost once she touched the ground. The doll was the size of one of his huge ears, and spilled out of his mouth in all directions. She had a well-made metal cage sewn into her head, with a nicely crafted silver bell inside it that made a sound similar to purring when she was lightly shaken. Back when she was new. Now, however, the metal cage was breaking and rusted, the silver bell tarnished and bent, and the once gentle purr became a raspy rattle that was difficult to listen to. As the fenling went along, she made unpleasant crackly sounds when she was jolted for all to hear as if complaining. After all, she wasn't his.

As the sun set, so did the fenling. He walked slowly, sinking up to his knees in sand, no longer the graceful thing he had been. His lovely tails curled up at the ends just above the ground, at rest. He kept his head down, just high enough to see where his next step would be, almost mourning the death of the day. His tatty toy had stopped rattling and hung limply in his jaws, almost sliding free as he panted and gasped for breath. The fenling had passed the great dunes to a sort of "fertile" valley, a large flat section of desert with visible oasis and scattered plants. He chose a low-lying brush and curled up underneath it, snuggled safely out of sight and far from other people. He dropped the doll on his front paws. Somehow she landed in a sitting position, facing him. The fenling stared for a moment, then shook his head. She was his only friend now--he couldn't afford to be picky. He curled his four fluffy tails around himself and his toy to keep warm through the frigid desert nights. Once settled, the fenling poked the doll lightly with his nose. She flinched back under the weight of his muzzle and rattled once.

What's your name? he said mentally, pretending to speak, I'm Kunta Kinte.

The doll rattled softly on its own.

Momo? What a pretty name.

The doll, now Momo, rattled again.

Kunta Kinte slowly drifted off to another dreamless sleep, with the start of what may have eventually been something close to a smile on his face.

[Feint]

Kinte's eyes slowly opened onto a new day. His friend was still there--slightly squished, but still there. She rattled ever-so-quietly, eager to be freed from his grip. Kinte stretched his tails slowly, and she flopped onto the sandy ground. A trickle of water dripped off his declined forehead and he flinched, panicked. Was he melting? Did the heat get too much for him? He didn't feel any warm, but he remembered talk of when things get too hot, or too cold, they feel the opposite extreme. When no drip followed the first, he craned his neck around to look at his exposed back. He'd been covered in frost during the night. The heat of the day had melted it and sent water running down his face and sides. Momo rattled for a laugh.

Kinte shook out his freshly-groomed fur, free of water and sand. His prehensile tails each scooped up a golden orb in a single motion and returned to their half-raised state. Kinte carefully lifted Momo into the air by a front paw with his teeth, then tossed her to get a better hold round her middle. After a quick horizon scan, he started toward the more fertile area of the nearby valley at a canter. Much to his surprise, there was no one there. The whole of the valley was utterly deserted. I could've slept here, he berated himself mentally, lapping up water from an oasis pond with Momo sitting at his side. Why couldn't I have checked first? He and Momo traveled on, pausing where they could to get water. Still no one was found. An area of so much water and plants was not one to be easily abandoned. Kinte had expected a small makeshift town to have started here, with a few merchants and countless travelers. At least a significant amount of birds. Kinte began to wonder with a hint of unease at what could have possibly happened to run so many people off. He slowed to a walk and cast his gaze about him, searching every fern, every baobab root, for a sign of life beyond plants. It was soundless. Where Momo would've had a rusty-bell comment, she too was quiet. Kinte dropped to an even slower gait, not quite a stop. Something in the air kept him from jumping to a lightning-quick lope and leaving the oasis behind. He came to a full stop, steadily filling with unease. As he cast his gaze about, he noticed something dark on the cracked ground. A flat, thin black bag was lying near the roots of a plant, as if carelessly tossed aside. It was a small bag, one commonly used for holding keystones or other foreign currency. Kinte edged closer to investigate, and found it was handle-less and made of something similar to silk. A very valuable bag by his standards. He nudged Momo into his neck warmer and bent to grab it, but at the last second, he flinched back. The bag was so thin and flattened-looking because it had been stepped on, possibly quite a few times, enough to tear away the handles quite cleanly. Kinte shuddered fearfully and gave the sand itself a closer look. Countless footprints littered the ground in the manner of fleeing. They had been partially covered thanks to a wind that blew softly through the night. Kinte took Momo into his jaws and fled the spot as if there were fire burning at his heels.

[Feint]

He ran fast, and hard. Each short, panicked gasp only became stifled in Momo's plush body, slowly suffocating the frightened fenling. When at last his spinning head could take no more, he spewed Momo into the hot sand in front of him and collapsed, tumbling forward with the sheer momentum of his run. Kinte closed his eyes and ground his teeth, waiting--what else could he do? He heard a sharp smack as his head cracked against something hard, and a feeling of nausea flooded him. When at last the tumbling stopped, the bruised and battered fenling slowly raised his head off the ground. He opened his eyes a crack, and the nauseating sensation of spinning returned. His light frame heaved a sigh and he lay back down again.

When he felt his balance return, he again opened his eyes. His sight was blurred, but still usable. Kinte carefully rolled onto his stomach and tried to scan the area. He could hardly see. The whole sky was the earth, and countless blackish blurs could be flora, fauna, or not really there. After a few seconds of hard blinking, he could decipher the sand from the sky, and see the outlines of plants. A few more, and he could see colors other than black and sand. Many more went by before he could see clearly again, with only the erratic blinking of his white, non-pupiled eyes to measure the time. Kinte rose easily and sniffed at a dry brush with shriveled berries that were unfit to eat. His four tails groped uselessly at nothing; the golden orbs were gone. A dull feeling manifested in his chest when he caught sight of his empty tail tips, but it was undecipherable. Restlessness? Hunger, thirst? Tiredness? Did any of his bones break? Kinte searched himself, poked and prodded anything suspicious with his little nose, but found only bruises. What was it, then? His brow furrowed as he thought, eyes glazed over in concentration. A sneaky tail found the base of the shriveled brush and firmly grasped its many thorns. Kinte flinched in shock and scampered sideways. He sucked out five large splinters but had to leave the other three that were too small. He stuffed a nose in his neck warmer for a tool to be rid of them--and tensed immediately. His eyes widened, and a tingly sensation spread from his toes on up.

Oh no.  

He yanked his face out of his neck and began turning frantically in all directions. His heart sank away and fear took its place, speeding and misguiding his actions.

Momo! Oh, no! Where is she?!

He would have whined, but lacked the ability to do so. Kinte saw something small an impossible distance away and exploded toward it, but it was only a dead desert mouse. He took off in another direction, but found a twig. Yet another, and a terrified lizard. He ran off again and again, only to find something else each time. Just as he reached at the end of his rope, he saw something glitter not too far away. Kinte dragged his body, weary from running, to the spotlight on the sand. It was one of his four golden orbs, pristine and perfect, not a scratch to be seen. He slipped an anxious tail toward it and grasped the mystical orb tightly, feeling slightly relieved. He cast his gaze out on the sand, and three far-off beacons greeted him.

[Feint]

Kinte carefully pulled out the rest of the thorns from his tail tip before lifting the last orb into his grasp. A heavy-hearted fenling scanned the oblivious desert before him, seeing nothing but cracked earth and dry brushes. He worked over every detail as he sat, the white eyes glistening with unshed tears. He had just given her up for lost when he noticed something funny colored out on the sand. It was very, very small. so much that he could barely see it. Kinte trotted towards the funny thing, nose low to the ground. As he got closer, he realized with a mute yelp that the funny little thing was her. He dashed forward and collected a very sandy and displeased Momo into his jaws, with his four tails lashing about with joy. She was a little gritty, of course, but nothing was ripped or further damaged. Kinte gave the horizon a quick scan before trotting off in a direction that led to what looked like another oasis. He had quite a distance to go in the heat, but he didn't mind. It felt as though he were walking on air.

The feeling didn't last long. The sun beat mercilessly down on the dark-furred fenling and everything else it could see, throwing sweltering heat waves down on the earth like some giant cooking fire. The sand sneakily crept into the soft lining between his toes and rubbed, causing blisters. Fortunately, Kinte was well-worn from the desert life and the blisters were only mild. Still, any blister rubbing against gritty sand is sure to be uncomfortable, and the ungodly heat made everything feel worse. Kinte began to walk more slowly against his better judgment. It was after midday, and there wasn't much time left for the sun to be in the sky. He was too big to fit in an abandoned desert-fox tunnel, and too inexperienced to dig his own. He could dig shallow beds, but those would be useless against the frigid desert nights without something else to help trap heat. Worn down with frustration, Kinte decided the only way to make it to that far-off oasis was to run there. Running cooled him down a bit, but did nothing for his sore toes. He was forced to stop, bitterly cursing the heat. As he dragged on, it became clear something had happened at this oasis, too. He had a few miles to go still, but there were no sand dunes to speak of between him and there, and he could see the abandoned pool quite clearly. Not a bird or insect had stayed to drink from and play in the bright, clear water. Kinte scanned the ground when he finally arrived, tired and sweaty, but there were no footprints to tell him which direction the inhabitants had run, probably thanks to a wind. Kinte eagerly lapped up the cool water, and then, since there was nothing around to impress that he could see, jumped in to bathe. The pool was just deep enough to dive, and the little fenling enjoyed himself immensely playing submarine. After a few minutes of play, he clambered out unwillingly to wash his neck warmer and get a head start on drying. He had no choice but to stay for the night. Even as he pulled the neck warmer over his head, the sun was busy crossing the horizon. Kinte wanted to get hidden, sleep, and then leave as soon as possible. He was behind the thing that chased everyone away, and it felt like he was behind enemy lines. His goal, he decided, was to get ahead of the danger without crossing it. He would judge when he took the lead by the state of each oasis he found along his journey. When he was dry and clean, and the sun had left the sky, Kinte dug a shallow bed-hole for himself and Momo under a prickly shrub and tried to sleep. His energy to run was most vital, for he needed it for when he caught up with the dangerous thing. He had planned carefully to avoid it, but deep down inside he couldn't shake the feeling that he would see it face to face before long. Feeling ominous and solemn, Kinte drifted off to sleep.