Oops, We're Fugitives

Paralysed with Fear

The beast continued to circle Morgana as she lay in the knee-height grass. Its fluffy fur – so clean and shiny the creature looked like it was pampered daily, though this may have been Morgana's terrified imagination trying to make her feel better about her imminent demise – moved over its body as kelp in an ocean current, swaying around it as it prowled. The beast itself moved like liquid, a frightening grace about it as it observed its prey on the ground before it. It paused its pacing, sitting down on its spiralled tail and fluffy rump, sticking its hind legs out in a V and placing its front paws in its lap. The creature bent its head forward, studying her intently, its bulbous eyes shining. Brown sparks misted around its long, narrow ears, trickling down onto Morgana's prone body. She saw, rather than felt, her back arch, her ears popping as the souled beast whose mercy she was at made itself understandable.

Human, it mused, less a word than a growl. The word – if it could be called that – seemed less to have been spoken than to have been thought, and less a word than a sensation of understanding. The closest Morgana could compare it to was what she imagined her life had been like as a 2yo, only with vastly more intelligence.

It sniffed at Morgana. She lay there, unable to do anything but hope. She could only hope that her team had got to a safe distance, saved themselves. The rational part of her panicking mind was doing its best to quash the selfish part of her that wanted them to come back and tackle this beast, get her out of this situation. She'd always imagined, always hoped, that she would go down fighting. Fighting herself wasn't quite how she'd imagined her end.

The beast sniffed again, then opened its mouth wide. Morgana was granted a horrifying view of a

A wave of smell – whatever it had last eaten, which according to Morgana's nose was something very capable of rotting – mingled with the pungent lavender that stifled the air, washing over her. Had she had the choice, Morgana didn't know whether she'd rather be eaten alive with her eyes open or closed; but she didn't have the choice thanks to the creature's paralysing breath, so she watched as its long green tongue wound out of its mouth.

It licked her. Boot to hairline.

Ordinarily, she'd have cared a great deal about having saliva coating every item of clothing she was wearing, not to mention every millimetre of exposed skin, but as it was, it was unlikely anyone would be able to complain about the state of her. She was suddenly very glad for the paralysis's accompanying numbness. She didn't even like it when chihuahuas licked her.

Hopefully friends? The beast pondered. Maybe paralysing was mean. I try not to breathe on you more.

Morgana stared at the beast (not that she had much choice, but). It stared back at her, apparently curious. She felt a sudden sharp pain in the sole of her left foot; then again, before it dissipated back into numbness. The stabbing pain subsided into pins and needles. Her foot twitched. Twitched. That had to be a good sign. Yay, thought the creature. Sensation in the form of the most intense case of pins and needles Morgana had ever experienced prickled up her body, until she could move her fingers, could move her mouth and had regained conscious control of her lungs. It was a monumental effort to prevent herself from squirming with the zeal of the tingling, for fear that her movement might spook the creature. Spooking it seemed like a poor idea considering it seemed – seemed, Morgana reminded herself – to not wish to eat her.

Talk, the creature growled in a friendly, mumbly sort of way.

Morgana stretched her mouth, jaw popping as the sensation restored itself. "Wha' woul' 'ou 'ike me tuh say?" she asked after a moment, her lower lip still feeling like cardboard.

Make friends, the creature huffed.

"Where ah my f'iends?" Morgana asked. With the creature still blocking the entire row, she hadn't seen them since before she'd hit the ground. The creature obligingly swivelled its head around to

look.

Not here, it moaned.

Morgana cautiously pushed herself onto her elbows, careful not to make any sudden movements as the creature's head swivelled back around. She smiled at it lopsidedly, hoping that baring teeth was not a gesture of threat or hostility in a dilaphoedus's world. It cocked its head at her, sniffing curiously, then pulled its fluffy blue lip from its teeth. Perhaps the dilaphoedus did understand that her smile was not a gesture of hostility, but its attempt at a smile was pretty damn threatening. Its front teeth were big, Morgana had noticed that before; its back teeth were massive. Worn flat, though – perhaps the rot she could smell on its breath was expired fruit, not meat.

Very cautiously, very slowly, Morgana raised herself onto her elbows, her back propped up slightly off the ground. The pins and needles was making her whole body throb, but at least she could feel almost everything, even if the only real feeling in her tongue was the sensation that it was made of wet fabric.

The dilaphoedus leaned forward, placing its weight on those massive, fluffy front paws. It leaned in close to Morgana, close enough that its whiskers – as thick as her finger – rested on her shoulders, sniffing intently. Morgana had to wonder whether it could smell fear, and then whether smelling fear was a sign that she was food or not. Unsure what else to do, she let it sniff her, snuffling over her head and, apparently, in her pockets. "Don' ha' food," she said, struggling to get the words to past her useless tongue. "Soh-ee. 'Lease don' ead me," she added, though she somehow doubted that it would accept her apology or her request if it really decided she was a snack.

Assessment of its new... plaything? snack that would be sufficiently sun-braised and fear soaked within the next 5 minutes? threat? complete, the dilaphoedus sat back again, placing its front paws daintily in its lap. When Morgana didn't do anything, it cocked its head at her, letting its tongue loll out of the side of its mouth. It looked like an overgrown, oddly coloured housecat asking for belly rubs. Even at the best of times, though, Morgana was not an expert on cats, and usually ended up having an allergic reaction or faking an allergic reaction to them. Your name is what? the dilaphoedus purred, its big eyes popping with such earnestness that Morgana could see the white part of the sclera as well as the rich brown of the rest of its eye. Blood vessels – small for this creature but easily bigger than Morgana's carotid artery – were visible too, so large Morgana's eyes watered looking at them.

With a gulp, Morgana managed, "Morgah-na."

Mor gar nar, the dilaphoedus mused. Pretty, pretty. I have name Milalalim. The big ones gave me that name, so long ago. Maybe soon they give me new name. Had this one too long.

"Oh, tha' is nice," Morgana said, the few muscles she had control over going tense as Milalalim moved – his? her? its? – head closer to Morgana. It snuffled gently at her face and shoulders, long whiskers that morgana had mistaken for hair twitching over her. If she'd been in charge of her muscles, she'd probably have knocked even the dilaphoedus out. Tickling Morgana usually didn't end well for her tickler. At 19 years of age, you'd think she'd have grown out of the reflex.

What wasn't so nice as the strangely melodic name of this enormous creature was the noise coming from the far end of the lavender row.

Clearly it was her friends, but what they were going to do, Morgana hated to think.

The dilaphoedus's huge head whipped up, lips pulling back from its teeth into a snarl, its enormous brown eyes narrowing to slits. Her friends paused their advance at this, and the dilaphoedus looked down at her with something like betrayal. Thought we are friends, it said mournfully, friends not hurt friends. Morgana felt guilty for a moment, but seized the creature's moment of sadness to leap to her violently tingling, but conscious legs. She pushed out a blast of air to move herself along a bit faster, launching herself a few metres ahead.

Her feet hit the ground, she stumbled into a sprint, and ran up the field for all she was worth.