Fic: For Want of a Nugget: Chapter One - The Strangers

[theropod]

Hello :3 New series time? Apparently so! I came up with a lil idea and while I really should instead be working on prompts or uni work, I wrote a small chapter instead. I hope you're ready for some Zisteau Origin story! Aw yeah :D The title shall become clear in time but I hope you guys enjoy reading and don't hate me too much for rattling this out in a rush while the idea was fresh in my mind instead of writing what I know I should be writing.

-0-
 

It was his own fault. For all he’d been scolded and warned, threatened and pleaded, he still disobeyed and it was entirely his own fault. The Elders had warned him to stay close to the tribe, that it wasn’t time for his Trial yet. His parents had threatened to leave him in a distant tribe if he kept running off to follow the strangers.

 

He hadn’t listened.

 

They drew his attention too easily with their strange, blue weapons and gleaming clothing, so much more clothing than any of his tribe wore, even the Elders, and it looked tougher too. He wanted to know what it was, what it felt like to wear. They carried things too, and he watched in fascination as the strangers sculpted out the rough red rock around them before laying down rock of a colour he’d never seen before. It reminded him of the Elder’s eyes, drifting towards the blank colour of blindness.

 

He shifted behind his little outcropping of red rock and peeked over the edge, little ears perked up to listen to the strangers talk to each other. It must have been some kind of speech, they were clearly talking. The words sounded strange to him though, so unlike the grunting, growling language of his tribe. Too soon however they retreated down a tunnel and before he knew what he was doing, he was following. His little hoofed feet dug into the red rock as he hurried after them, ducking into little holes that seemed almost tailor made for such a thing to avoid their eyes. They turned a corner ahead and he forced himself to wait a little until he could no longer hear voices before he hurried around it, a thrill going through him as he chased after the strangers –

 

He came to a dead stop when he saw what was ahead, eyes going wide. A tall black structure loomed before him, in its centre a swirling, writhing mass of what looked like purple fire. Purple smoke seemed to drift from it and as he stepped closer, utterly entranced, his ears picked up the sounds of something strange. Voices? Rustling? He was close enough to touch the strange purple stuff now and this close he absently thought it rather resembled the surface of lava instead of fire. He reached out, little fingers swishing through it and meeting no resistance. There was a queer bubbling sound and he couldn’t resist, stepping into the purple. Almost immediately his vision went blurry and he let out a frightened squeal, finding he couldn’t move when he tried to flee.

 

His vision went black.

 

-0-

 

When he came to, he was on a floor of stone, the same kind he’d seen the strangers use at home. It felt cold, terribly cold and he shivered, sitting up. Even the air was chilly here, wherever here was. He drew his legs up and wrapped his arms around himself as he took it in. Another black structure was beside him, the strange noises still coming from it. The cold place seemed to be a room of the cold stone and he saw nothing familiar in the room at all. It frightened him and he let out a soft whine. This wasn’t home, home was red and hot and welcoming. This place was cold, strange…scary. He had to get home.

 

He got to his little hooves and stood unsteadily, looking up at the black and purple gate he’d come through. Home was that way. He was just reaching forwards when something hissed and shot past his arm. With a squeak, he snatched it back and stared wide eyes at it. A pointy construct with tufty bits coming out the end was stuck in the black stone of the gate, glinting dangerously at him. He turned to see where it flew from and his eyes widened when he saw one of the strangers standing there, with a curious device in his hands. It had another pointy thing in it however and he knew instinctively he didn’t want it touching him. He ran for the gate only to have the pointy thing hit the floor before him and he changed course, fleeing as he felt the terror rise within in. He simply ran, fleeing between the legs of the stranger and running, dodging the arms of the second stranger he’d seen in order to keep running. He’d lost the sound of the gate but all he knew was fear and it was all he could do to keep running, to not let the strangers with pointy things hurt him.

 

The Elders had been right. His parents had been right. He should never have gone near the strangers.

 

He ran out of a tunnel, up and out, only to be nearly blinded by a vivid light. He screamed and threw his hands over his eyes, running still. The ground felt strange under his hooves, light and soft, springy even, but he didn’t care, afraid and blind, too busy running to marvel at the new things. He kept running as fast as his little legs would take him and it wasn’t until he collapsed in exhaustion, tears streaming down his cheeks , that he realised how lost he was. The bright light was fading and he curled up on the strange, soft ground, hiccupping as he cried, tired and lost and afraid, wanting nothing more than to be at home in his home with his mother, curled up in her lap as she sang him to sleep. Exhaustion claimed him as he pretended to hear her voice, his little fists curling up as he pretended to be safe.

 

Sweet dreams little my little Zisteau…