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// 1 - Vitality 
// Story: Zielstrebig 
// by Lyssieth 
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…

……

………

An eerie silence, a gnawing darkness, and a near-complete physical numbness. Unknowing whether they were dead, they sought to force their eyes open, to get up and seek out some kind of safety. Unable to do so, they struggle to get up, only to collapse again, pain forcing its way into their senses, amidst the emptiness.  

They try again, to force some kind of response from their body other than a dying gasp of strength. And… it fails again, collapsing to the ground once more. This time, with a muffled clatter of hooves, of someone landing on stone. They were alive, supposedly. Trying a third time, they manage to wrest some control over their body and open their eyes… only to close them again, dust and particulates having forced their way in.

They manage to get up as well, to pull themselves out from the miscellaneous rubble, to get some amount of motion. The hooves are clearer, the sound of someone, themselves, straining against the rocky, earthen restraints clearer than before. A gasp of air, followed by heavy coughing: their own.

Another pull, another collapse. They can't move for long, nor even really stand. They resign to pulling themselves along, one agonizing meter at a time. At least, it seems like a meter. It could be anything from a millimeter to a mile for all they care, as long as it's away from the rubble. Towards… somewhere. An escape, a way out.

In their brief blink of vision, they couldn't see anything. Despite having been in a place of light, even if artificial, there was now only darkness. Memories would have to come later, as they continue to struggle and crawl away. More coughing, ragged breathing; the air isn't very safe. It's full of particles, dust, spores, mold. Was it once a home? A voice in their head, theirs probably; a thought. They aren't sure. More crawling, but the sound of running water breaks the pattern.

Water. Quiet, but flowing. Splashing against something, splattering around, and then flowing more. They crawl towards it, inch by centimeter, unit of measurement by unit of measurement. Their dry mouth and throat yearns for the liquid of life. It gets louder, louder, louder, until splash, their hoof touches water. Cold, icy, flowing water. They manage another pull, and finally get close enough to drink, to wet themselves with this wondrous and bitter elixir, one tainted by the chaotic surroundings.