AiD 6 - Better to be the head of a dog

http://youtu.be/jDUtThzcdxk
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>A banshee’s wail assaults your ears, the sheer volume of the voice is a wonder.
>Your mind snaps back to Fido’s words the night you two went after the p0ny in the woods.
>He was hesitant to capture it, said something about horrible noises that hurt the ears, this must be it.
>Some kind of self-defense mechanism of this world’s p0nies that the younger captured p0nies must not have developed quite yet.
>The little one in your arm begins to flail at the noise, and you drop it abruptly.
>It lands on its hooves, luckily, but you’re more concerned with plugging your earholes.
>You take off at a run past the carousel house and into the neighboring woods.
>The voice carries far, you hear it abruptly stop before you hit the edge of the trees.
>You don’t turn back however, you don’t want to chance another high-decibel assault.
>Maybe it knows, you think.
>Perhaps a p0ny saw you and Fido that night, and word has spread.
>They probably all think you’re a monster, and now that you think about it, you kind of are.
>Your mind is reawakened to all the questions that assaulted you on your escape.
>What have you done?
>What can you do fix all of this?
>Can you fix any of this?
>For the first time in a long time, you really wish you were back home, in good old So-Cal.
>You didn’t know what you were doing with your life, and you were going nowhere in college, but at least you were never a murderer back there.
>Oh god, you didn’t even really think about it, but you killed that p0ny didn’t you?

>Your pace begins to slow, you’re well into the forest by now and it is pitch black.
>You didn’t do it on purpose, technically it killed itself.
>Ran into a ditch and broke its neck, totally not your fault.
>Except you were chasing it, you remind yourself. And then you ate it.
>Now you’ve run away from the only beings who might have given you shelter and amnesty to save a bunch of tiny squishy horses from them.
>This is beyond confusing, you’re thinking of a million things at once and it’s making you feel really bad.
>You decide to try to clear your mind and just rest a while.
>You’re tired and hungry, so you decide to sit yourself against a tree and have a brief respite.
>Digging in your pockets yields a bit of jerky, you tear off a bit and begin to chew.
>Suddenly your mind snaps back to the sweet taste of p0ny flesh.
>Bile rises in your throat, you attempt to hold back vomit as you spit out the jerky.
>Throwing up anyway, you return the rest of the jerky to your pocket.
>You feel sick.
>Maybe a nap will do you some good, you think.
>It’s very late by now, and you aren’t going to be eating any time soon.

> You find a new tree to lean against, and you put down your lute and bag of clothes.
>You close your eyes, and drift into an exhausted sleep.
>It isn’t very long before you wake up to the first light of dawn, still tired and now sore.
>It’s absolutely freezing out here, you think to yourself how it’s probably nearing winter.
>The first thing you’re going to have to do out here is prepare for survival, thinking about everything that’s happened can wait.
>Everything is just so much more bearable when you’re working on something.
>Pulling out your knife you get to work on constructing a bit of shelter and cutting some wood for a fire.
>You get some work in before your internal clock kicks in and reminds you that you haven’t eaten for more than half a day.
>You don’t even want to touch your jerky right now, so you hunt around for some edible plants and berries.
>Picking anything you think looks edible or familiar, you set yourself to the task of determining what is fit to eat and what isn’t.
>You crush berries and rub them into your skin, the more or less familiar ones you hold in your mouth pressed against your tongue.
>These were the kind of things you remembered well from your survival books, gathering edibles and setting traps or snares.
>No way you were making any snares right now though, you’re afraid you might catch something else that’s intelligent.
>Again.
>No, you’ll stray on the safe side for now and just nibble on whatever grows from the ground.

>You’re lucky enough to find a few pinecones here and there, so as you wait for a reaction from the possible food you’re testing for poison you cut a few cones open with your knife.
>Once you’ve got a good amount of pine nuts gathered you go back to your little campsite.
>You’ve got the materials for a fire now, and your shelter is well on its way.
>It’s like a small tent but pyramid shaped, formed out of branches propped against one another to form a kind of skeleton of wood.
>You plan to drape your spare underwear over the thing in lieu of a blanket, but as you rummage through the bag of clothes that the diamond dog seamstress had given to you before you left, you find a small surprise.
>A decently sized blanket, rather skillfully sewn.
>You feel a twinge of regret as you look at it, you remember now that you spent a deal of time talking to Lassie at length about the sparse nature of your living quarters.
>Why didn’t you speak with Lassie before running off, she might have understood your plight.
>You find it hard to believe she could condone something like the imprisonment of three children, had she known.
>There had to have been better ways of handling this whole situation than breaking out a trio of p0nies when the dogs had entrusted you the task of guarding them and running away from everything.
>This thought makes you feel rather angry at yourself, but you try to will yourself calm.
>You can’t change the past, it’s best to focus on the present, where survival is your priority.

>Blanket thrown over your makeshift tent, you find yourself content.
>You have a nice little area to call your own here in the forest, now you just need to find some water.
>It’s been quite a few hours now since you woke up, you decide that the foods you’ve collected are probably not poisonous.
>Swallowing what’s in your mouth, you eat a few berries and pine nuts.
>You hate pine nuts, but the thought of meat is still making you feel nauseous.
>Off to gather more food, now that you’ve got a variety of things you know are safe.
>As you walk, you decide to do what has helped you adjust the most in this strange world, sing.
>Your current plot reminds you of another Bowie song, funnily enough.
>From an old art film you watched when you were younger at the insistence of your parents, “Basquiat.”
>The song is called, “A Small Plot of Land,” and it seems rather apt for how you feel right now.
>Like a royal screw up.
>Before you even finish your first song, you hear a noise that piques your interest.
>A kind of soft bubbling, most certainly the sound of running water.
>After a few minutes of searching by sound, you find the source.
>A little babbling brook, on the smaller side.
>Probably too small for fish, but you weren’t too concerned with that.
>Even if you were up to eating meat at the moment, you’d rather starve than eat fish.
>Fish were fucking disgusting.
>God, you are the pickiest wilderness survivor.

>Having covered all the essentials, you waste the rest of the day tuning your lute and testing more plants for poison.
>When the sun begins to set and the air starts to cool, you start a fire and decide to go to sleep.
>The forest is strangely quiet, and you nod off rather quickly.
>You awake the next morning to an unpleasant chill.
>The fire died out sometime during the night, and all that’s left is a slightly smoking pit of smouldering ash.
>It’s REALLY cold out. and despite the several layers of clothes you have on you can’t help but shiver.
>You make your way to the small stream from yesterday to wash up a bit and get a drink.
>Then you return to the task of gathering food and finding wood, you plan to make a more robust bit of shelter for the coming weather.
>You work for the rest of the day, pausing once or twice for song, never allowing yourself time to think.
>In the back of your mind you know you’re just running away from your thoughts, but they seem to depress you whenever you try to give them any attention so you simply work away the vortex of regret in your head.
>The next day passes similarly, and the day after that.
>You got a rash or two from some of the plants you poison checked, and at one point you did get the runs after eating a new berry, but nothing major happened.
>It’s actually a bit unnerving how little life you’ve seen or heard in this forest, aside from some very distant wolf howls.
>You hope you never have to encounter anything like that, you didn’t wish to try your luck against any wild predators.

>Your encampment wasn’t all that far from the edge of that p0ny village, but the trees were rather densely packed and some areas of the forest had an ominous feel.
>The forest gave you chills, despite the apparent lack of animal life, you often felt like you were being watched.
>Not one to believe in superstition or the supernatural, you shrugged off these feelings.
>It was probably paranoia and fear at your unfamiliar surroundings.
>Defying these uncomfortable feelings, you venture out a little further into the forest with every passing day, always looking for new plants and easily obtainable wood to improve your shelter with.
>The bowie knife the dogs made you is serving you well, but an axe would be a godsend right now.
>Without one, you’re reduced to cutting away what small branches you can with a knife, or finding wood from the ground.
>The new shelter itself isn’t exactly coming together either.
>You can’t quite remember how to make a good shelter for cold weather, and your life in California has not equipped you to working in these chilly conditions, which grow worse by the day.
>To combat this, you widen your search radius with every passing day, hoping to find a better natural shelter, or better materials.
>You’ve even begun to stop washing yourself in the brook, dreading the times you have to get yourself wet as the weather becomes increasingly frigid.

>After almost two weeks of this, you’re becoming rather desperate.
>You decide to go for broke and search the areas where the forest is dark, even in the day.
>Gathering your resolve, you begin the long trek towards what must be the heart of the forest, where the very air seems to be alive.
>The trees here are less coniferous, more like large gnarled willows, and occasionally akin to trees you might imagine in a jungle or rainforest.
>With increasing frequency, you hear the signs of life around you, but still see little to indicate what sorts of animals inhabit these woods.
>A growing feeling of danger rises in your gut, which clashes horribly with a sudden pang of hunger.
>You stuff your face full of disgusting nuts and delicious berries in the hope of quelling both unpleasant sensations.
>You certainly weren’t worried about what any dogs or p0nies thought of you right now, that’s for sure.
>Another few hours later, and you are still rather despondent.
>Your search has proved to be fruitless, once again.
>A few pieces of lumber are all you have to show for today’s hike, nothing new.
>As you make your return to the campsite however, you are greeted with a terrifying new development.
>Between you and your destination lies a rather large monster.

>Immobile save for the steady rise and fall of its breath, the creature looks to be sleeping.
>It resembles a lion, its forequarters are absurdly large, while its hind quarters a tad undersized compared to regular lions.
>Upon its back are a similarly undersized pair of bat-like wings, and its tail an armored carapace-covered appendage with the segments and stinger like that of a giant scorpion.
>A manticore, clearly, if the dogs hadn’t spoken of them in hushed whispers your knowledge of mythological creatures would have tipped you off anyways.
>Your terror is palpable by this point, but you make a marked attempt to stay calm and collected.
>If it’s anything like a regular lion, you should be fine.
>Lions ambush their prey; if you see the lion, it isn’t hunting you.
>making sure to give the beast a wide berth, you begin circling around so you can continue on your way to your campsite.
>Everything is going well, you give furtive looks back at the monstrosity every few seconds to make sure it stays grounded.
>with every step you make your way further from the creature, walking in an outward spiral to both put distance between you and the thing and to maneuver your way to your campsite as quickly and as quietly as humanly possible.
>With the batlionpion at your back now, your heart slows.
>Scott-free, you look over your shoulder one last time to confirm the manticore is still where you left it,
>...and you promptly smash into a tree with an audible clunk.

>Shit.
>Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.
>Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit.
>Shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit
>You wheel around, lumber in your arms accidentally knocking against the tree once more with a crack, making your heart leap into your throat.
>You set eyes upon the massive beast and find that the extra noise didn’t hurt your situation any.
>The manticore was already up and staring straight at you, even before you turned.
>SHIT
>Okay, you can deal with this, you need to stand your ground.
>You drop the lumber at your feet, and grab your vest.
>Opening it to make yourself look as large as possible, you focus your gaze directly on the beady pinprick eyes of the behemoth bearing down upon you.
>Willing yourself calm, you struggle against the desire to shake like a leaf.
>You can’t show fear in this situation, you need to assert dominance. You think.
>The lion faced creature steps carefully closer, and stops, its tail raised and moving from side to side.
>A sudden movement propels it forwards, but you stand your ground with only the faintest of flinches.
>It stops several yards from you, a fake charge.
>Seems the thing really is like a lion in behavior, you almost sigh in relief.
>Before remembering that lions are still terrifying and dangerous.

>Another fake charge and the monster is mere feet from you.
>Your breathing is fast and shallow, beads of sweat form on your brow despite the crisp late autumn air.
>This is far too close for comfort, you really don’t know what else you can do.
>You know better than to break eye contact or turn your back on the monstrous beast.
>At six feet tall you are standing your absolute tallest to try to look as big as possible, but the manticore continues to approach.
>It finally gives one last plunge, and you feel a rush of panic and adrenaline as you drop to the floor.
>you’re dead, this is hopeless.
>If the manticore didn’t lose interest and walk away, you weren’t sure what you could do against the massive beast.
>All you know is that the monster is now bearing down on you with tooth and claw, and you’re pretty sure that playing dead is for bears, not for lion attacks.
>You hit the floor and hear a snap of jaws above you.
>You grasp a branch in one hand, and fumble for your knife with the other.
>Swinging the dry lumber backhanded with your left, it thuds against the lion face weakly.
>You scramble away as a massive paw swings at the spot you once were.
>It catches you lightly in the leg.
>Nonetheless you feel it rend and tear the flesh, leaving lines of crimson in your filthy pants.
>You cry out in pain and try to stand while swinging the branch.
>Colliding with the manticore’s head harder this time, it elicits an ear-splitting roar of fury.
>Clearly you’re only making the beast angry at this point.

>Another swipe of its claws find your left arm and you instinctively drop the piece of wood.
>Your forearm burns with pain, blood runs freely from the wound.
>Time seems to slow as you see the creature take one last pounce, maw open and aimed for your jugular.
>You hit the deck once again, falling over backwards to get your head as far as you can from those massive teeth.
>You shut your eyes and shield your face with your good arm.
>The colossal brute rams into the arm with incredible force, and you hear it emit another, louder roar as its jaws widen only inches from your throat.
>You feel a whisp of breath on your neck, and a splash of warm liquid on your right arm.
>But death doesn’t come.
>You open your eyes tentatively and are suddenly greeted with the sight of a large dead manticore twisted oddly from its landing.
>Your eyes dart over to your right hand, where your trusty bowie knife is, buried almost entirely in the eye of the beast, a look of animal fury still etched upon its face.
>Luck, you have survived through sheer dumb luck.
>You roll the carcass off of you and lie for a while in stunned silence.
>Looking down at your wounds, you feel the pain flare up to full intensity as soon as you are aware of how much you’re bleeding.
>Seems like luck hadn’t saved you after all, these wounds will be the death of you.
>You work yourself into a sitting position, shivering, the campsite felt so very far away.
>A flurry of white catches your eye, and you realize what you’re seeing is the first sign of snow.
>Shit.

End Chapter 6 - Better to be the head of a dog than the tail of a lion.