.:The River:.
Lilah's last coherent memories before awakening on the banks of the dark lands were of rain. It had been the rainy season, she was sure of that. After that, nothing was left but a chaotic jumble of terror and pain.
The rains were long gone by the time Lilah came back to herself. She was older and much thinner than she had been when she went under the waters. Her pelt was still dark and rich, but her ears were ragged and scars mottled her hide. The only thing that mattered to her now was her hunger.
Though Lilah had to struggle to form thoughts, her hunting capabilities were relatively unimpaired. Weeks of near-starvation had withered her muscles, but it wasn't long before she was sprinting along after prey as quickly as ever. Wandering the boundary between the blasted lands and the savannahs of her old home, Lilah made a good living for herself. Packs of enemy hyenas and other hunters did not frequent the borderlands, and she fed well off the sick and wounded animals that had wandered into the blasted lands to die.
When she was younger, Lilah could remember time spent running with other nomad cubs. She still encountered strange hyenas from time to time, but she found it difficult to speak now. It had taken nearly a year since her near-drowning for her to recover her speech, and speaking was still a struggle for her. Stringing together a simple sentence was nearly impossible, and the presence of strangers made her very uncomfortable. She could no longer function socially, and she was truly a stranger in a strange land.
As the months passed, Lilah retreated further into the dark lands. She had been fortunate enough to wash up in an area that was relatively unpopular with the waste's original denizens, and competition was scarce. The water and air were foul, but the isolation was a relief.
Loneliness took its toll on Lilah. She had never belonged to a clan, and had no real concept of loneliness, but the isolation ate at her even as it soothed at her. She stole the bones and feathers of the twisted beasts she lived with now, twisting them into her ragged mane and tail. The slow poisons seeped into her skin from these affectations, warping her senses even as it sharpened her mind.
The last few weeks before her final injury were spent in delirium, drunk on the poison that tainted the land. The river had grown swollen with rain, and Lilah struck out one morning from its banks. She was no longer sure of what she was doing, and the urge to choke once more on the river's tainted water appealed to her.
The agony of the crocodile's jaws closing around her foreleg shook her from her trance. The beast was an old mutie, its thick crusted scales seared with old scars and glittering with ingrown debris. The chunks of metal and glass embedded in the monster's face tore at Lilah's paws and mouth as she struggled to free herself from its grip. As the crocodile submerged and went into a death roll, Lilah managed to snag a clump of roots in her jaws. The croc lost its hold on her long enough for her to struggle to shore.
Once more Lilah took to adorning herself with the old bones that littered the dark lands. By winding them through and around her shattered leg, she fashioned a crude brace. The poison that leached into her body healed her after a fashion, though it also accelerated the changes that were occuring in her mind.
The journey back to her birth-lands was long and painful. Lilah's foreleg was shattered and twisted, one of her toes and most of her paw pad ripped away. She walked slowly and carefully, heavily favoring her ruined limb. Though she was able to sprint quickly when chasing game, she had no stamina for long chases. Fortunately, her time in the blasted lands had left her sensitive to the presence of other creatures.
With no clear goal in mind, Lilah set out on her long journey.
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