The Quartz Lined Cavern {Open}

[Plume of the Eagle]

The heat of the day was unbearable, even in Winter. The Hotali desert was like an enormous, confusing, dried-up hotspring, making it even harder to navigate. In desperation, Plume had fled underground. Yes, it was cramped, he couldn't spread his wings, it was dark, there was any number of bugs or disgusting things there; but still, it was cool.

He lay in a small, off-to-the-side chamber underground, very close to the entrance he'd accidentally fallen into. Plume's wings were partailly spread, for the chamber could accomodate about five feet. His wingspan was a little over six-foot, and therefore he couldn't fully release them, but it was nice. The walls were lined with beautiful gems, and there seemed to be a gently cooling moisture in here.

Plume was tired, his shoulders where the wings were placed aching and his right wing twitching. He knew he had little chance of meeting anyone here, and that was good, for now he wished to rest.

Curling up, he slipped into a fitful sleep. There was one dream, the main one that kept him half-awake. Before him stood his mother, young and healthy, and behind her was his father. Raven of the Pines’ black pelt was dappled with light from the trees around them, mostly oaks. Brook of the Singing Water smiled at him, calling Plume.

“Come on, Plume, hurry up! You should join us, we miss you,” She called, her voice peculiarly far away, despite her short five-foot distance from Plume. Raven of the Pines beckoned with his wings.

“Come on, my son and heir, the Empire awaits you! We all miss you and need you,” Raven said, his voice even farther away and echoing. The forest was bright and loud with life, Raven stood in the shadow of a great oak, his pelt perfect and glossy. Brook stood in front of him, close to Plume. But for some reason, there was something akin to a veil between them, and whenever Plume attempt to enter the strange, off-clear veil, he slammed into it, like it was a brick wall.

His family called encouragement as he slammed into the wall, warm blood beginning to trickle from his head. Suddenly, he tripped, falling.

Plume’s eyes flew open from the nightmare, garish and frightening. Blood was dripping into his eyes and onto his face and paws, splattering the floor beneath red. He shook his head, trying to get the blood out of his eyes. Where was it coming from? He wondered, than glanced around him. Plume’s head began to throb, and he immediately realized—I’m bleeding!
And he caught sight of around him—this was not the chamber he rested in, he’d been sleep walking!

Now he was lost, his scent quickly dissipating in the moist climate.

Plume was lost and there was no way back.