Terror was an odd and fleeting emotion for her. It rose for a moment, brewed and stormed with all its turbulence in a dire tempestuous storm flooding every inch of her sense. And yet, like a mighty crash of thunder that leads to ringing deafness, so too did the flooding horror to her senses dull, so violently and swiftly breaking into a heavy numbness. She couldn't have explained why, it seemed to contradict every feature built into her existence for survival. That explosion of terror was meant to send her running or fighting, but instead it just left her raw and exposed for a tender, fleeting moment, before the concentration of terror was watered down to an odd sense of apathy. As if it didn't matter if she died. As if nothing mattered.

It was something she recognized only after her nose caught the distinct scent of ocelot, still haunting the air around the Oasis with its sharp and heavy presence. For a while she froze, at first from the blow of alarm smashing into her like a sledge-hammer to her very sense of self-preservation, but eventually falling into a spell of futility. A sort of " que sera sera' ", if you will. Then, as the scent passed, tossed away by throw of the wind, there was the slight comfort of safety. However recently it had been there, the ocelot was gone now. After giving a quick look around the premises, confirming her initial analysis, she continued on with her morning hunt. It was like every other day of her life, even though today could have been the day she died.


It was the uncomfortable casualness of things that had to be done for the very reason of the fact she was not yet dead.