Fallen Legacy Part II

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Through the scratched and beaten up window, Clara's face remains unchanged, her coffin surrounded by luscious greenery.


The knackered thing finally gives, the braces falling back into place in the container, the symbol on her chest blinking to a stop, the mask disconnecting and staying on her face.

The container lid pops open leaving Clara exposed. All lights on the container blink, fade, then go out.

The sun shines on Clara's body, air touches her shimmering skin, it's been both hours and millions of years since she was first placed in here.

Time passes again, but slowly, day turns to night then to day again...

All is still. Clara twitches.

She takes a huge breath, pulls off her mask and takes another.

A silver mist curls out of Clara's nose and mouth as soon as she's exposed to the air.

The sheen across her body dulls, the material liquifying and dripping off her. The pad on her chest turns off, the symbol blinking red.

She bolts upright. The air is different and she can taste it as she holds her chest, breathing heavily, face reddening, eyes widening.

The iris of her eyes cloud, turning to a nebulous haze of blue and green hues, darkening, thickening into silken hazel before coming to a rest at a solid brown.

She starts to breath slower, blink faster.

With the azure sky gleaming down, she stands, looking outward in pure awe, half-horrified, entirely awe-struck.

On the precipice of a hill, contained by no walls, she can see for miles across the super-sized world, glowering bright and wide spread.

Beyond the foot of the hill a forest of luminous green trees reach way into the sky, stretching to the horizon in one direction. The hill is in-line with the forest borders, the abrupt divide between the columns of trees and endless grassland.

Clara steps out of her metal box, turning around to a field of other containers.

Hundreds of them.

She approaches the closest. Inside is a man's face: blank, lifeless. She walks from one container to the another finding new faces.

Completely bewildered she looks around, looks further down the field, beginning to notice the twisted, jutting and rusted metal.

She passes through a few lines, quickly realising the broken containers ahead, the bones that have spilled away from them, some covered in greenery, others more recently exposed, clinging to rotten fleshed, painted in blood.

Almost three quarters of the field has been destroyed.

Clara backs away, finds her open container, baffled, mouth dropped open, hands in her hair, lost, simply sitting down.

A deep bellowing groan rolls from the distance.

Roaming toward the field is a group of mountainous creatures. As Clara peers, still dumbfounded, they first seem like bulky giraffes, only two times taller...

They come into focus.

... the pack of beasts are more like dinosaurs, Diplodocid with short tails and sandy fur.

Clara hides in her container looking through the window of the open lid.

The pack stop on the edge of the container field and so are still quite distant; not a threat, but observable.

The Diplodocid graze on the grass mindlessly, bumble as they throw back mouthfuls of stones, coming off balance, knocking into one another.

Clara watches, eyes wide and watering, as some of the shorter beasts wander into the field. The adults bellow after them, but do not give chase. The younger ones pay no attention.

They play about, barging one another, meandering through the lines of containers, making a lot of noise.

One gets knocked off balance and...


... steps on one of the containers. The kid screams out, hits the ground and rolls away as the container sizzles electricity.

From behind Clara reaches forward a snarl...

... she freezes in fear for a moment, then reluctantly looks over her shoulder...


Still fearful she lays down, pulls the container lid closed with a loose piece of cord and remains unmoving.

Another snarl, but closer.

Over the hill comes two black cats the size of horses, slender and muscular. They show each other their teeth, dimmed yellow but unmistakably sharp fangs, snarling some more.

Parting, they go around Clara, paying her no attention - they have their eyes on the Diplodocid.

But, too soon do the playing beasts notice the cats and scamper back to the pack.

The cats relax out of their stalking positions, one jumping on the closest container and lying down, the other pouncing onto Clara's lid.


Clara freezes, unable to avert her eyes as the cat peers in on her.

The cat bares its teeth...


... hissing, menacingly scraping its claws down the window before lying down.

The two cats lazily stare at each other, snarling again.


Clara crumples into the fetal position, whispering into her chest, hand over her head, white knuckles griping the cord, suppressing tears.


The cats long gone, Clara lets the lid crack open. She listens to the silence before slipping out of the container.

Clara looks out to the field of bodies again, then backs away. She makes her way down the grassy hill, watching her back constantly.


Clara stands before the grasslands, a five foot tall wall of grass from where she stands.

The strands are half as thick as her arm. Timidly, she reaches out to touch one. Upon first touch she pulls her hand away, but then has to go in for another.

Moist hairs run down the back side of the blade. A waxy sheen covers the other. Clara's finger traces through the soaked underside.

She apprehensively smells the residue - it looks just like water and her face doesn't indicate any different. She licks her finger tip then cocks her head.

Still looking over her shoulder, she takes a blade of grass and, using the waxy side, wipes the bristled side of another.

Down the leaf in hand runs water.

She bends the blade so a small pool collects in the waxy crease. She takes a drink. It's good. Surroundings clear, she continues using other blades of grass to sip water and wipe her face clean.

As she quenches her thirst, tries to clear the sweat, fear and tears from her cheeks, there's a ripple near the edge of the grassland not too far from her. She doesn't notice.

From the wall of grass wanders what looks like a fully grown WOLF.

Clara immediately spots it, throwing herself into the grass.

The Wolf turns its head, it's clearly very young; its eyes too big for its head and its head too big for its body.

The Young Wolf barks, playfully prancing over to where Clara threw herself in.

It finds her crawling through the grass and hops up and down, barking some more, sending water flying off its coat.

Clara spins around in the grass, watching in horror as the thing bounds over to her, holding down a scream...

The Young Wolf stops before her, nudges her with its nose then prances back off.

Clara's petrified features relax a little as she waits for its next move.

It bounds over again.

Clara holds her breath, every muscle on her face taut, but it just sniffs and nudges her with its nose again.

She sits up, wiping her now soaked face.

The Young Wolf barks some more, Clara seeing that it only wants to play.

She stands with a half-smile, thinking she can back off as the it runs in circles.

Clara starts receding through the blades, loosing sight, when another WOLF three times its size approaches from behind.

She hears the grass rustle and stops.

The Young Wolf runs toward and past Clara yapping.

She turns around.

The Young Wolf disappears into the grass, Clara looks up at a seven foot tall Wolf.

She falls, turning her back, crawling away, whimpering with terror.

It looks down at her scuttle away, intrigued, but only for a moment. It starts off toward the Young Wolf's barks.

Clara looks over her shoulder. The Wolf's gone.

She's left dumbstruck, panicked to the brink of death.


The grass here is a little shorter. The Young Wolf, followed by its Father, makes its way through a pre-cut path.

The Father is wary, constantly pivoting, sniffing the air. The Young Wolf runs down the path ahead, oblivious to his angst.

As they start moving down hill, the grass rises again, becoming two walls either side of them.

The Father grows ever more cautious, but the kid doesn't seem to notice the change, even when cloud-cover deadens the light of the sun and all becomes darker.

They reach the end of the hill and have to turn sharply with the path.

The Young Wolf takes the turn first.


It sounds like it's coming from everywhere, no specific point.

The Father whines, calling out to his child.


He spins around on the spot, searching for the source.


The hissing arises from all around and remains continuous.

The Father backs toward the turn.

The hissing grows louder, seemingly making its way down the path between the walls, trapped with the two wolves.

The Father calls out again but his child doesn't reply. He spins back on himself and gets around the corner.

He makes the turn to see her whimpering in the middle of the path, frozen in a defensive hunch.

The hissing stops.


The Father approaches, his swiveling gaze keeping an eye open, anticipating an attack--


--a tubular dart fires out of the grass wall--


--slamming into the Young Wolf, rolling into entwined malice, hurtling through the other grass wall, gone...

The Father stares, frozen in fear, just as his baby was.

She cries out.

He barks, scampering toward her, pushing through grass taller than himself.

The cries sharpen, growing more desperate, reaching closer.

The grass simultaneously gets denser, making it harder for him to push on.

The whines subside...


... the Father stops, calling out to his baby.


He shuffles in the grass not knowing where to turn.


The Father backs toward the path, the hissing swelling louder and closer.


Thick smoke billows, pushing toward him.

Sparks of orange flicker through the blades of grass.

Embers and ash ascend in flurry toward the melancholy overcast.


Clara, on the hill leading up to the containers, crawls forward to check the coast...


She crawls up to the top and moves for the closest container, keeping low.

She peeks over the lid. No Cats, no beast of any kind.

Still on edge, eyes darting, slumped low and out of sight, she leans against the container.

Eventually settled, Clara looks down at herself, surprised at what she's wearing. She's dressed in what looks like a pure white pyjama suit. It's soaked through and heavy on her shoulders, the thick material rubbing against her skin. Her white pumps are muddy and already falling apart.

She pulls at her clothes, disheartened, but ultimately stuck wearing them.

Her hand comes to the pad on her chest. She peels it off, inspecting the symbol with passing recognition before pocketing it.

Clara pulls her legs up to her chest and hugs herself, looking out on the new world she has found herself in.

The grasslands and the forest ahead are vast, almost never ending - green meeting blue on the horizon, all clean and calm.

Her eyes follow the contours of the grasslands, scanning the shadowed, thick and lush rises. Small figures can be made out in the distance, herds of animals feeding on the grass.

Nearly lost amongst regions where the grass is as tall as trees, lines run throughout the grasslands - pathways.

Clara turns her attention back down to herself, stretching her legs.

Her hand comes to her neck.

She checks her wrists for any tags, her ankles, checks pockets for anything, she even runs her hands through her hair to find a pin or hair tie.

She has nothing, left completely alone with nothing. It hits hard, leaves her catching her breath.

Standing to a wary crouch, she makes her through a few lines of containers to reach her open one.

She checks the insides, only finding the mask and a gas tank tucked into the side.

She continues to inspect the inside, panic-stricken. She runs her hands across every surface, reading every bit of text on the container.

Starting to lose her patience she checks the lid of the container for something... what, she knows not.


She slams the lid down and screams, running her hands through her hair, squeezing her head.

Her scream burns into shaken breath, her fingers over her ears, hair draped, following the line of her gaze into a stagnant middle-space between herself and the ground.


She slumps down on the container.

Tears begin to well in her eyes.

Knee bobbing in agitation, she rubs her face, running circles over her eyes.

Clara takes deep breaths, slowly shaking it off, eventually met by the placid rush of wind skimming through the desolate grave of unearthed coffins.

She stands, walking away from the field in parallel with the grasslands.


With the container field in the distance, Clara walks across a field of short grass littered with bright yellow flowers.

Her eyes are still a little red but her features have calmed, her face lifted a little.

Clara walks timidly, her knees bent slightly, head down. Not too far from her are packs of huge fluffy masses - what look like giant bunnies.

Clara keeps her distance, but a few seem to be following. Their slow movement and silent nature keeps her from running.

A part of the pack grazes ahead of her. She catches their attention and they start to wander.

Clara stops. One of the huge masses trailing her approaches. Its deep breathing resonates throughout its body. With each breath, its back and stomach expands, its entire body puffing up and deflating with every step.

No eyes can be seen on its face as its ears cover them, both at least six feet long. They drag along the floor moving in synchrony with its stumpy legs.

The huge bunny stands before Clara - it's just as tall as her, but five times wider. Clara stands up as straight as she can, keeping her body stiff and fists balled up tight by her sides.

It lifts its head and sniffs at her chest. The bunny's ears move away from its eyes revealing deep brown pebble like orbs that are nothing more than curious.

Clara flinches, breathing rapidly.

She slowly begins to relax and smile a little. She reaches out and strokes the animal.

It responds to her every touch, leaning and pulling away, making heavy clicking sounds. A few others stand nearby looking on at the interaction.

Clara continues to stroke the thick fur until its ears lift off the ground and the clicking stops dead.

Clara brings her hand away as the ears float. She turns to the others.

Their ears are off the ground too.

All at once they turn away from Clara and clear off. She cocks her head, a bewildered 'ok', and carries on in the direction she was going before.

She heads toward a body of trees, short and colourful, possibly full of fruit.


Closer to the trees Clara begins to see deer-like creatures feeding, all with incredible muscle tone and brilliant white antlers - even the females.

She cautiously approaches.

The deer stop eating and bolt, Clara watches them go thinking she was the--


With a sudden burst of roars and snarls two huge cats the size of buses explode through the tree line.

Trees fall as they roll through them, roaring and clawing at one other, eventually falling out onto the plains and away from each other.

Clara clambers toward the grasslands which aren't too far, no looking back, manic with fright.

The two cats snarl, circling one another.

One looks like a male lion but with a saber-tooth's teeth. Its shoulders are by far the largest part of its body. With each step its muscles flex and bulk outwards, its mane a deep orange and its fur a sandy yellow.

The other cat roars, a female leopard as big as a bus, its legs like tree trunks and eyes a sharp piercing blue. Its paws, impossibly gargantuan, slow to a stop.

The leopard sinks into a position of attack. From its paws extend jet black, blade-like claws.

It pounces.

The lion roars, rising to its hind legs.

It catches the leopard, eight claws digging into its undercarriage...

The leopard yelps.

... and, still mid-air, the lion swings it away...


Rolling in the flowers the leopard roars out then gets its feet under her.

The lion approaches.

The leopard takes a huge swing at its jaw...


... almost knocking its head clean off with the pure brute force.

The lion's head jerks to the side, but before it's even steadied itself again it swings back and connects with the leopard's face with an Earth shuddering...


The leopard is spun off its feet and downed, the lion thundering down on it. The leopard scrambles to its feet and runs.

The lion is straight after it.

They both run with impossible speed, covering ground with utter elegance and aggression.

The leopard runs hard, but the lion harder, with more force, more ferocity.

It only takes a few strides before the lion is upon the leopard.

It swings its paw mid-air...


... catching the leopard's hind legs.

It spins out.

This time there's no time to get up and run, the lion is on top of the leopard in seconds, biting down on its throat.

They roll to a twisted stop, the leopard thrashing below the lion. All is lost in no time.

The immensely powerful jaws of the lion clamp down on the leopard's neck...


... blood streaming from its jugular.

The lion stands triumphant with the leopard limp, slowly bleeding out.

After it takes its last breath and its eyes blink shut for the last time, the lion drops the leopard and strides away.

He didn't kill to eat.

The body of the leopard lies on the plains, slumped lifeless.

Clara looks on from the taller grass, terrified.


A myriad of small birds feed on the corpse of the leopard. Its carcass has been near stripped.

Beyond the body Clara struggles frantically to pull fruit from the fallen trees. The smallest pieces are the size of bowling balls.

Holding an armful she questions if she should take more and stockpile. Watching the birds pecking at the already broken pieces she drops all but one large piece - too much of a draw.


Back in her box Clara pries open the peel to what looks like a watermelon but what is actually more like a bloated banana. She pulls it apart like an orange and eats ravenously.


Thousands of hooves patter around the container field. A herd of deer, easily hundreds of them, all keeping their distance, moving quietly.

Moonlight bounces between their brilliant white antlers, reflecting in the open and curious gaze of Clara as she peeps out of her container.

Violence screeches bleed from the distance.

The herd flinch, slow, then come to a stop...

Clara turns toward the plains, hearing the sounds of a bitter fight; roars, yelps, snarling, bellowing - two cats again.

... the herd speed to a canter, footsteps still light, and move on from the field - none daring to go near an actual container.

Clara pulls her lid closed, balls up tight and closes her eyes.


Clara's grip on the cord loosens, her face softening into slumber.

The lid smoothly swings open.



A door is violently slammed shut.


A young girl's bedroom. Under the pony covered sheets hides a teenage-girl-sized lump. She cries.






A tennis ball pounds against the wall.


Downstairs. Another closed door. Behind it, a couple's argument.





The lump still cries.


Curled up in her coffin, shivering, Clara is jolted awake by the sounds of the forest.

Screams, grunts and roars ring though the air.

The cacophony thins into hectic ape screaming as it edges closer to the fringes of the forest.

Clara peeks out of her box to see tree tops shaking, the whole area of forest near the foot of the hill quivering.

Something big is coming.

The ape screams grow vehement, Clara wrought with trepidation.

Beyond the tree line dark figures, easily more than nine feet tall, violently pound off and against trunks.


A huge gorilla is thrown out of the forest, smashing its head against a tree trunk on its way out.

The screams surging from the forest turn to tauntful hollering as a crowd forms in the canopy.

The gorilla comes to his senses not too far from the base of the hill Clara's on top of. It coughs up blood then gets to its feet. He doesn't crouch, but stands up straight, balanced, with astounding musculature.

It looks to the treeline, breathing heavy.

From between two trees pushes through an even bigger gorilla, Hurculean, scarred deeply all over its chest and face. One of its eyes is a deep brown, the other dark blue.

He looks up to the tree line, hiding apprehension, met only by primitive hoots and yells. Malicious intent instilled into his features, the scarred gorilla turns toward his foe.

The smaller steps back and begins to gesture, swinging its arms about its head. The bigger gorilla responds aggressively, pacing forward.

Hundreds of apes have appeared atop the trees, hanging about, chattering, wanting to see a fight.

The gorillas speak with grunts and pants. They both seem to have an argument of sorts, the smaller gorilla more passive, seemingly apologetic. The argument's urged by the intensifying rabble above and it doesn't last long.

Chest to chest, the smaller gorilla is pushed to the ground. It tries to stand, but with a thunderous hammer-fist to the back of the head and a cracking knee to the face, is floored.

The scarred gorilla looms above the other, roaring in warning.

It stays down.

The larger gorilla turns toward the crowd--


Taking its chance the downed gorilla kicks out the others knees and clobbers at its jaw as it falls forward onto him.

He attempts to roll into a better position, but without hesitance the bigger gorilla bites down on his nose, getting a grip on his neck.

Screams of agony have Clara ball up tighter in her container, peeking out of the corner of her eye up toward the cord of the lid.

The larger gorilla bites down harder, pinning the small gorilla down by the neck.

He snaps his head back, tearing the nose clean off.

Blood spews from the gorilla's face, soaking into its eyes as he tries to scream through closed airways, squirming, fighting to get its knees between the two bodies.

His feet find the hips of the larger gorilla, dig in and kick out, propelling him away.

Forcing rasped air into his lungs, holding the hole in his face, the smaller gorilla gets to his feet and turns to retreat up the hill.

The scarred gorilla is having none of it.

It rolls back up and gives chase. Not blinded by blood he can run faster and catches up quick.

Feeling the scrambled pounding of approaching footsteps, Clara throws a hand up to grip the cord and slam the lid closed.

On the heels of his target, the larger gorilla goes for the tackle, throwing his body forward, hugging the smaller's shoulders and, using all of its weight...


... drives the gorilla's face into the dirt.

The gorilla goes limp on impact and, as the scarred gorilla gets to its feet, starts to slide down the hill. He's taken by the ankles and flipped over.

Whilst he comes to, the scarred one cracks its neck and then spits chunks of flesh into its palm.

Pulped nose in hand he barrels down on the near dead gorilla and...


... smashes what's left of what was his nose into his face.

The smaller gorilla then tries to fend off the barrage of punches that rain down on him, almost all connecting with his already bloody face.

Arms tiring, the scarred gorilla stands up tall, lets his weight fall forward, fist held way above his head, plummeting for the disfigure of the smaller gorilla's face...


... he jabs a foot upward, driving his heel into the scarred gorilla's stomach, pushing himself into a backward roll and up to his feet.

Reeling away, the larger gorilla grunts heavily, winded.

Bellowing out what's left in his lungs, he bounds down the hill and throws himself at the smaller gorilla.

The two roll violently, scrambling for a grip on one another.

They come to a sudden stop with the scarred gorilla on the back of the smaller, his forearm clamped onto his chin, trying to sink it into his neck and choke him out...


... the smaller gorilla's head is pounded into the ground, but his chin stays strong, riveted to his chest, refusing to give way to the pressure and threat of the choke.

The scarred gorilla tightens his squeeze, leaning back, allowing the smaller to push onto his knees, onto his feet...

... but, with complete control of his back, the larger gorilla just topples backward, a vice-like grip on the chin of the smaller still constricting.

Panicked, the smaller gorilla throws his arms about hopelessly, squirming, thrashing, floundering.

The panic slows, the gorilla's arms fall to its chest, its breathing deepening into juddered fear.

Grimacing, the larger gorilla squeezes ever tighter...


... the pain bolts across the smaller's face, his fingers finding, gripping the forearm around his neck.


Trying to twist the smaller gorilla's head up and to the side, snapping the vertebrae, the scarred gorilla growls searing heat into the smaller's ear.

But, he's not giving up.

The smaller gorilla pushes the forearm up over its mouth, over what was his nose (the reams of blood helping) trying to turn his face into his shoulder and pull his head free.

The lock starts to fail...

... the scarred gorilla lets it loose, allowing the smaller to grip his arm, spin, careen with a fist to shatter against his face--


The scarred gorilla blocks it.

The two push against one another, the stronger gorilla below coming to its feet.

The smaller keeps hold of his hands, throws him from side to side as he's off balance then pulls him in and roars into his face.

Blood and spit splatter on the scarred face of the larger gorilla. He roars back--


--but gets a mouthful of a head butt.

The larger gorilla staggers backwards, but the smaller gorilla grabs his arm and swings him up the hill.

Right near the summit, not too close to Clara, the gorilla falls disorientated.

The smaller clambers up the hill and thunders down on the fallen gorilla's face, its old scars opening up, spewing blood.

With little defense to offer, he throws his arms around the smaller's torso and pulls himself into his guard. With a surge of adrenaline, he then rolls the clench as to be on top.

Before the smaller gorilla is pummelled he kicks the larger off him and up into the field of containers.

Clara writhes in fear, hearing the close bellows and grunts. Wanting to escape, her grip on the cord loosens, allowing the lid to crack open an inch...

The smaller gorilla approaches the larger, but before it can make a move the larger gorilla clutches his neck with its foot.

The smaller gorilla grips a toe and twists, threatening to snap the bone. The choke is released, allowing him to throw the foot off his neck - but in turn gives the scarred gorilla momentum.

He swings his body up from the ground, a devastating uppercut trailing...


... plowing into an unsuspecting jaw.

The smaller gorilla is sent into the air and...


... down onto a container, crushing the comatosed body within. It screams in agony as electricity surges through its body, as it desperately scrambles to get to its feet, but continuously falls back down.

The scarred gorilla grabs him by the shoulders, pounds him in the mid-section and...


... hits him with another uppercut, this time sending him down the hill, more than half way down, where he crashes to the ground, sliding to the bottom completely unconscious.

Clara peers out of the gap in the lid, seeing the back of the scarred gorilla.

He stands triumphant atop the hill.

A huge gust of wind blows against him.

The gorilla looks up, unconcerned.

Imbued with brash confidence the larger gorilla, on all fours, bounds down the hill.

He stands by the smaller's head, gesturing up to the apes atop the trees.

They scream wildly and shake branches.

The scarred gorilla roars, stature pumped with surging malice, throbbing barbarism, jumps up into the air and...


... seat drops onto the smaller gorilla's head...


... bone shattering, a skull popping open, the smaller gorilla's head bursting into tatters.

The mob slap branches, shake the canopy, livening the edge of the forest with satisfied blood-lust.

The larger gorilla stands, wiping the blood and brains off his ass with dopey grin.

Another powerful gust of wind beats down.

The apes look upward, going silent. In a slow trickle, they disappear into the forest.

Unshaken, the gorilla looks up at the sky and roars, beating his chest.

The wind stops.

The gorilla grunts and nods with brazen naivety--


--an ear-piercing screech snatches him away.


In the monstrous talons of a vulture-like bird, the gorilla squirms. He hasn't a chance.

With a few beats of its behemoth wings the vulture is miles in the sky.

It lets go of the gorilla...



Hundreds of smaller vultures, each the size of a man, feed on the fleshy paraphernalia.

There's definitely not enough to go around so the birds fight for each scrap they can get.


Shook with an unknowing horror, Clara peeps out of her container.

Another blast of wind catches her off-guard. The cord slips out of her hand, the container lid swinging open.

The headless gorilla is pinched from the squabble of squawking birds by another huge vulture.

Refusing to reach for the cord, to draw any attention to herself, Clara shrinks into the container.

The vulture beats its wings, starting its ascent, rattling the open lid until...


... one of the hinges break, the lid nearly snapping off.

Panicked breath throbs from Clara's chest. The beating winds die down, welcoming momentary silence...


... Clara jumps out of skin, suppressing a scream.


The ravenous birds have more meat to pick apart.


Clara can only hold her knees tighter to her chest and listen to the chaos, hoping it doesn't come any closer.


Another sudden gust tears the lid clean off the container.

Completely exposed, Clara stares up to soaring silhouettes, eyes widened in indiminishable terror.


A pack of bunnies, clumped together, ears raised, watch the clamoured frenzy from a distance.


The Diplodocid graze upon the tress, oblivious to the monstrous shadows cast down on the plains not too far from them.


As the smaller vultures continue to scavenge for the few remaining pieces, they have to push through thickening grass--


And with that the rabble fly off towards the huge soaring figures above.


The skies pose clear-of-danger, innocently azure.

Clara pulls herself out of the container.

She looks around. Before her lies the forest, next to that the grasslands, then to her right the plains. Behind the container field slants down the softer incline of the hill that gives to more vast plains. Turning on the spot, Clara's left facing the forest.

Trapped with the world to explore she keeps circling.

She looks left to the plains and then down the hill to the grasslands: water, but no food; wolves, but no giant cats, hunted Diplodocid or apes.

Down she goes.

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