don't turn around (open)

[THEA!]

It was strange that such a barren yet strangely beautiful sight could not relax Quince. Rather, it reminded him of his youth, and he could think of many times that he had trailed after his mother into farmlands like this as she explained the uses of each plant she passed. Then, he had tumbled about with his sisters, playing and not quite listening to what she said until she turned around and told them sternly to be quiet and listen, as the following could prove important one day. And then they'd all stand straight, wide-eyed and excited, until their attention span ran out; then one would leap on the other and start everything all over again. But that had always been under a bright blue sky; now, the field was blanketed in snow and the crops lay dead. The sky was an ominous red and bled into the horizon, smearing the edges of his vision. Was it a sign from whatever higher being was up there? Shivering, he dug his claws into the ground.

Relaxation was impossible at this point. Maybe if the grass had been longer and if there had been a tree with a little hollow under it so that he could sleep, he might have considered taking those much-needed breaks he only took once a month, but now was not the time. The crops were too small, and there was not a tree in sight. Perhaps the only good thing about this field was that the crops were so small, nothing could attack him. However, the fact that there was no end to the expansive field in sight scared him out of his wits and he let out a small whimper, smelling the air for the umpteenth time and telling himself not to look back. There was no one here, he reminded himself. You're a coward. Now don't turn around. There might be someone - no, don't. If you do, you're a coward. If you do, you're giving in. If you do - oh, damn it.

Quince flinched as if he had been hit as his head turned, golden eyes staring out across the field. There was nobody there, of course, and he settled down, whimpering again and feeling sorry for himself. There was no fight left in Quince's body after a hard day of work, and he had no desire to test his limits by trying to find the way out of here, and so he resigned himself to the fact that this would be his deathbed. In a weak attempt to make it comfortable, he gathered some straw around him, then curled up, clutching his dreamcatcher protectively to his chest. What a wonderful way to die, he thought, serene for once, his eyes staring up at the sky, dark ink-blue now staining the red. His mother had once said what to do when he got lost; "Climb a tree and look out, far, to where you see another cat. And travel to them, and tell you who you are, the Council member's son, and they'll return you to me." But what to do when there are no trees? Wait for his mother to come? That sounded good. A reunion before death. Perfect, he decided, now just to wait.