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[Harlequin]

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“Who does he think he is?? Order ME back to camp…..” Quinn stalked angrily eastward toward Umbra. She paused to give a toadstool a swift kick, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. The toadstool sailed a dozen feet or more, and Quinn stomped it as she passed by. “What kind of a werewolf ARE you? Too weak-willed to eat a girl who’d just as soon put an arrow in your heart as look at you! You’re not a wolf, you’re a…” she hesitated as she paused before a red and white polka-dotted mushroom. “A lazy hound!! NOT EVEN A HOUND! A little…a tiny little…A CHIHUAHUA!” She kicked the mushroom, sending it straight up in the air. It landed several feet behind her as she continued her tirade.

She heard a creak behind her, accompanied by a high-pitched buzz. She stopped and turned around to see a large wooden – tree? – break into a run in her direction. A bird fluttered alongside the treefellow’s head, both seemingly intent on punishing her for her treatment of the land and flora thereon. A trail of kicked, smashed, and mutilated mushrooms, molehills, and flowers would have led them from Ashencrosse to the exact spot where she stood.

“THEY HAD IT COMING!” She shouted back at the treefellow and broke into a sprint toward the cave entrance that led to the desert. Safely on the other side, she ducked out of the shadows into the scorching sun that assaulted all of her senses at once.

“Stupid tree.” She gave a rock an aptly-placed kick, sending it sailing in the direction of camp. Each time she caught up to the rock, another kick sent it tumbling farther on down the path, scattering sand that blew in her face and settled in her boots. But she didn’t care. She kept close watch behind her and made sure not to assault anything living. Especially not a cactus, for more reasons than one.

Arriving in camp about fifteen seconds behind the rock, she took a look around and shifted uncomfortably. She had sand in places she didn’t know existed, and her toe hurt from kicking the stone. She was hungry, tired, and parched. She took a dipper full of water from a bucket, swished it in her mouth, and spat it out on the ground, washing the grit from her teeth as she seethed and muttered under her breath.

“Stupid wolf.”
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Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.
~Paul Laurence Dunbar