the Maze

AW. @Kentaro feel free to join if you want ^^
Whoever replies, feel free to take charge of the herd's reaction if you want! ;)

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They had been there—then nothing. His head had spun, the world around him had seemed to waver for a brief moment, and suddenly, he was there: in the midst of a vast plain, surrounded by beasts…

Mighty, horned beasts—monstrous creatures the likes of which he had never seen before. Gigantic colossi, reminiscent of muskox, yet adorned with enormous, gleaming white horns. What was he doing in the midst of all this? How had he ended up here?

Pressed low against the grass, striving to make himself as small as possible, he scarcely dared to breathe, murmuring a familiar melody from home in the faint hope that it might soothe his own mounting dread. His gaze flitted over the powerful creatures as they moved around him, their massive forms weaving a shifting labyrinth from which he longed to escape.

For now, an eerie calm reigned—but it was a fragile illusion, held together by the thinnest thread. A single misstep, the sharp crack of a broken twig, and the great bull watching him from afar would unleash its fury in a charge as swift as it was deadly…
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They almost looked like the bulls of her homeland, but not quite. She had observed them for some time — far enough to think herself safe, lying in the grass in a far too laid-back manner. At least, she looked unthreatening enough for them not to care about her; not a single glance, not a single ear in her direction, nothing to betray their unease if they ever felt it.

Oh, she was no fool: she didn’t believe for a second that she had managed to conceal her presence from them. They knew and they just didn’t care. She was no predator of them, and especially not on her own. Actually, she was the one perfectly aware of her weakness in this situation; herbivores were not only meant to run but also to fight. And these ones seemed to have more weapons than herself.

It was quite peaceful, this quiet observation of the land and its inhabitants — until a subtle shift in the atmosphere broke the status quo. She didn’t notice at first, and nor did the beasts, but then again they were busy grazing and catering to their youngs while she had nothing to do but to observe. And so, she noticed him before they did.

She had been here for what seemed like hours and she was certain that he hadn’t been there all this time. Or maybe he had been and she was just such a terrible lookout. But now that she had finally seen him, she couldn’t just leave him there and pretend everything was fine.

Her first instinct was to help, for if she had kept a respectable distance from the herd, he was right in the middle of it and she was sure the not-quite-bulls wouldn’t like that. And judging by the stranger’s posture, he was also very aware of it: this wasn’t a hunting stance but a hiding one.
What could Amapola do, though ? Create a diversion so he could flee ? Try to gently push the herd to move away from him ? Attempt to establish some form of contact with the herbivores and negotiate ?

She grimaced, already short of options. She’d have to just wing it, then.
She slowly got up, earning a few glances this time, but still as unthreatening as before. She hoped the stranger would notice her too, and they could try to work in tandem while concealing his own presence.

Amapola was all body language and animal instinct; keeping her head low, she started trotting in a wide arc around the herd, going back and forth, just to unsettle them and get them to go to another one of their pastures. Hopefully, it would be enough to annoy them and make them leave peacefully.

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Slowly, the enormous beasts had moved, as if deliberately revealing to Achille a path of escape—one he had willingly taken, ever watchful, ever cautious in his steps. How great was his astonishment when he realized that the towering creatures, in forming their passage, had led him straight to one of his own kind, only to close in around them.

The beasts were playing with them, herding them like cattle, inverting the natural order. Tension had risen, insidiously, as Achilles’ ears flattened against his skull.

“What are you doing here?” he murmured to the stranger, drawing closer to her, his gaze never leaving the creatures, scrutinizing their every movement. They feigned indifference, yet their deliberate, methodical shifts betrayed an unseen purpose—they were guiding them, bending them to their will. Around them, a prison of flesh and sinew, colossi crowned with horns hemming them in on all sides… The unfortunate woman had been swallowed by the labyrinth as well.

“Che palle ! Now they’ll think we’re hunting them!”the citizen cursed at the wretched woman, his lips curling, his muzzle creased with frustration. His eyes darted frantically in search of an escape, a breach in the living walls, a glimmer of light to lead them—some divine providence. But Achille was no strategist; he was a warrior, a soldier who obeyed orders and left the burden of thought to others.

“Ah, santa madre… I was doing much better on my own…” Not truly, but he had convinced himself of it nonetheless.
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The beasts of this land seemed intelligent in a way she had never seen before — her herding technique quickly backfired as the giants started to enclose her among them. A strange mind game had started; they had noticed the wolves, but didn’t want to let them go so easily. What were they trying to do ? Teach them a lesson ? Send a warning to whoever would dare think of starting a pack here ? Establish their dominance ?

“If they do, then they’re not that smart after all,” she replied in the same hushed tone, acknowledging his latter remark with nothing but a quiet snarl.
By playing with them in such a manner, the not-quite-bulls had to move their young from the center of the herd to its periphery, as to keep them away from the two wolves. A much more dangerous position — one that any pack of wolves would take advantage of. So, either the horned beasts didn’t think of that and unwillingly put their young at risk, or they were absolutely certain that the two wolves were not the scouts of a hunting pack.

Her desire to help the other one diminishing by the second, Amapola kept moving in rhythm with the herbivores. She wouldn’t be a sitting duck; and didn’t care much if he would follow.
Her head still low, her paws bent in a crouch, she kept moving in short advances. She rushed to a point, stopped to gauge the surrounding reaction, hurried to another spot, stopped again, and so on. But each and every time, the beasts would react accordingly, blocking her way and leaving no room for passage.

Now she was seriously growing frustrated. She glanced at the lighter wolf, trying to see what his own technique was — if he even was attempting something, of course.

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The other sought a weakness, a breach in the living wall, but each time, it sealed shut around her. She moved with a practiced ease, reading the space around her—surely a daughter of the land, one accustomed to the ways of beasts. And yet, the behavior of these creatures was unsettlingly strange, which had surely provoked the frustrated growl she had let slip.

STOMP!
One of them struck the earth with a heavy hoof. Achille lifted his head slightly, straining to discern which one it was. What he failed to notice, however, was the subtle ripple of movement that followed—some of them shifting, parting just enough to form a discreet passage.

Stomp!
Was it the great male from earlier? Achille searched for him, but the beast had melted into the dense mass of muscle and fur. One opening vanished, only for another to take its place. Though they were many, they lacked the intelligence to fully ensnare their two prey-turned-predators—so instead, they moved in eerie coordination, a hive mind of flesh and instinct.

Stomp!
“Where is it coming from?” Achille whispered to the stranger, whom he had followed with far less ease than she.
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A few gaps appeared; dangerous mirages of the vast plain beyond — glimpses of hope taunting her, daring her. But Amapola was not that desperate yet; she could still recognize the trap, understand that the slightest miscalculation could result in her crushed body if she tried to lunge for an opening.

Meanwhile, her unfortunate partner was trying to direct her attention to something. She had no idea what he meant: it seemed to her that the stomping was everywhere and that none of the hooves made more noise than its neighbour. But then again, her misperception might have been due to her heart hammering in her ears, her heartbeats getting confused with the stomping hooves. It was just drums, drums everywhere. Maybe that’s why the soldier at her side could discern it so well.

“Does it matter ?” she snapped with an annoyed swish of the tail. She didn’t mean to be so aggressive, but frustration was the feeling she hated the most. She couldn’t handle it well…
And then - a little late - she started wondering why it could matter. Why he even bothered to ask.

“Do you think they have a leader ?” The whisper came with more uncertainty, and a touch of remorse. If they couldn’t fight the wall of flesh - and they couldn’t - they’d have to find a specific target to strike. Now, which one ?
A chain is only as strong as its weakest link, whispered an old echo in her mind.
And the question remained: where to strike ? At the leader ? Or at the proverbial weakest link ?

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“There is a huge male among them, their leader, maybe. But I’m having trouble seeing him from here!” He replied, his gaze sweeping the surroundings as the grip of the muscular mass tightened, gradually forcing them into an ever smaller space.

Stomp!
Everything moved with the precision of a well-rehearsed symphony. Amidst the maze of hooves, Achille still saw nothing—no surprise, for this particular stomp came from further back, a frail leg, pale with age, striking the ground. The weakest link in the chain, their maestro. The great male was merely another beast among many, but this conductor was their true leader.

Stomp!
The gap appeared again.

“Here, look!” He urged his unfortunate companion, indicating the opening with a motion of his muzzle before it swiftly closed.

“Bestia di merda! Are they moking us?” He observed, still unsettled by their situation. Were they about to be crushed beneath an overwhelming tide of muscle and hooves?
This time, the citizen steeled himself for an assault, his lips drawn back in a snarl, though his ears lay flat in uncertainty. Were his life truly at risk, he would not hesitate to strike, yet he preferred to avert such a course, knowing well that he would likely not emerge victorious from such an encounter.
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This time, she left her pride aside to listen to the ivory male. A huge beast ? Well… they all seemed pretty huge to her ! Thankfully, he managed to pinpoint a target — and Amapola caught a glimpse before the window closed again.

The herbivores were pressing all around them; as their cell became narrower, the tensions peaked — they didn’t have much more time to dwell. This was a moving trap of compressing walls, and Amapola wasn’t ready to bet that the beasts would stop.

A certain death if she didn’t move, an uncertain one if she did. Well, at least those odds meant something. She was ready to throw caution to the wind and lunge under the massive bellies to reach the other side and the old king hiding there — but a blind assault could just as easily start a stampede… Those hooves were definitely dangerous, and even if she managed to avoid them, by choosing to go below, the beasts could just decide to drop and crush her all the same. That’s it. There was only one option left.

“I’m gonna jump.” Climb would be more accurate, but she knew she could do it. The backs of the beasts were high, but deprived of thorns and danger, and the horned heads would be easier to avoid. And while the bulls she knew had almost no fur, these ones had a coat akin to wool — with some luck she could even grip it with her claws and teeth to aid in her ascent. And if a stampede she did cause, she’d be safer up there.

“How about you ? You know how to jump ?” Her gaze didn’t leave the approaching wall for a second, but she wasn’t thinking of only herself anymore.
So, tell us, Achille. Were there Games in Lupopolis ?

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Jump? What an absurd idea!

The soldier, though hardened by war and long inured to the most ludicrous of orders, could not mask his astonishment—nor his unease.

“Jump? Jump?! Cosa sono? Uno stambecco?!” His gaze darted from the woman—undoubtedly mad—to the towering beasts. Yet, did they truly have a choice? No, this was perhaps the most viable course, especially for Achille. He was tall, nimble, and where others might see an impassable wall of flesh and muscle, she saw a path—a perilous gamble, but a path nonetheless.

There was no other way. He would have to climb. A stroke of fortune that he had inherited his mother’s frame—his true mother’s. Had his father’s wishes prevailed, had he been sculpted into some towering juggernaut of brute strength, this moment would surely have spelled his end.

“Then we jump...” he murmured, resigning himself to fate. Without further thought, he sprang forward, landing upon the uneven, shifting back of one of the great colossi, setting their frantic course into motion.

The herd roared to life, a writhing mass of fury and instinct, their thunderous hooves beating a rhythm that sent tremors through the air. Achille clung on, his claws digging into the creatures’ coarse, earth-caked hide, his muscles taut as he navigated the living storm beneath him. He leapt, clambered, grasped at whatever hold he could find, his focus narrowed to a single distant point—the plains, his salvation.

There was no time for doubt, no room for fear. His own survival was all that mattered now. May fortune smile upon that brave farmer too.
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He didn’t know how right he was; Amapola sprang like the ibexes she once knew, less than a second after her partner. Thankfully, he was athletic enough for such a daunting task — he managed just right despite his initial shock, and Amapola had her own plan in mind.

To reach as high as she could, and then hold onto the wool of the beasts with everything she had. As she suspected, the coat was thick and easy to grasp — and she held, even as the herd panicked into a stampede; an improvised rodeo with surprising riders. Now she could only hope that her beast would stray from the rest of them; that it would deviate in an attempt to throw her off and give her the chance to land away from the bulk of the herd, away from the stampeding and ever-threatening hooves.

In her own struggle, she lost sight of the white wolf, and could only hope that he was okay. A part of her mind tried to reassure herself that she didn’t hear anything fall, nor any painful yelp — and that same thought also tried very hard to ignore the fact that the thunderous hooves would drown all of that anyway.

The gallop never slowed but Amapola did spot a chance of escape when her beast got shoved by another out of the ruck; she didn’t dare take the time to think or to gauge her options — she jumped away from the herd, and rolled in a patch of grass too short to truly cushion her fall. She rolled a good distance too, but the noise of the hooves went away, and with it the danger they meant.

It took her some time to get her bearings. She was dizzy and in pain — whether from mere bruises or from a more serious injury, she couldn’t tell yet.
Ah, she really hoped the other one made it too…

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I guess they got separated in the stampede so that's it for me ! Thank you, it was so much fun ! xD

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