The puppet was lying down in the middle of a clear open field, outside of the forest, away from that forsaken ravine. Where the wind sings, where these strange creatures with six legs graze on the grass, a whole flock of them. Together.
Her hair stunk from the residue of that lizard animal thing, her clothing had paw prints all over them and she was sure that there was some bug inhabiting her cranium. Her fingers were stained with the earth, a noticeable trail of grass being ripped from the ground, the little bread crumbs of not to go back that way.
She had just been looking at the flock, a blade of grass poking into her right eye socket. The biggest overlooks them all as they eat and rest under the sunlight. They were all mingling among each other, talking in a language that she wanted to know. Compassion, a word she doesn't know but she wants to be a part of it.
But if she crawls over, they'll run away. They'll run so far away from her that she won't be able to see them again. So she's just fine watching them like they're watching her. Yes, watching. It feels nice, as much as it pangs her heart.
Is it possible to be cared for and loved? Ah, must be nice, she thought.
Then, something cuts through the air, a whizzing sound before it pierces into a neck. A resounding thud among the grazers as they scram all over the place. There was that red, that red that spilt over the dirt.
The doll quickly raised her head. What's happening? What's happening? What was that thing? Why are they all running? Why is it lying down? Why isn't it running with them?
A pair of boots stomp the field, approaching the incapacitated animal. The machination in his arms folded into a more compact size before slotting it behind his waist, underneath that cylinder bag with metal sticks pointing out. A bipedal animal, a predator coming to claim its prize.
There was another, running over with him. Smaller, carrying some sort of bag with it. She must be its young, feasting with her father. Yes, that must be it.
Both with a head similar to that reptile from before, scales no less different in colour than the leaves and claws as sharp as a razor's edge. The doll can imagine it, teeth sinking into the flesh, ripping the flesh apart before swallowing it whole.
They stood before the dying grazer.
The bigger one readjusted the position of the still breathing prey, grabbing ahold of the two ends of the metal stick. It struggled, tossing its legs around but the young had already gotten ahold of it. In a swift moment, a resounding snap, and it stops moving.
The marionette had already familiarised herself with the food chain. She's seen it happen in small forms. Insects eaten by lizards with long tongues spanning several meters., the grass eaters chased by these large beak creatures who ran faster with two legs as opposed to their six and getting pinned down by their talons before being eaten alive. The red water flowing down, the red water flowing down.
But this one, this one that was happening acres away from her. It was a little different.
The father stabs the meat but not with his claws, but with a sharp metallic object. Was he cutting the skin open? Is there a purpose to it? Why so?
The doll wanted to crawl closer yet was afraid that they may do the same to her. So she continues to watch.
The father seems to only choose a selective part of the body, a selective part of the meat to be placed inside the bag. Precisely cutting away the unwanted parts, severing the veins attached to the bones of the grazer, the lizard man was more efficient than a savage.
When they were done, there was much meat left to be taken. Rather much strange, the doll thought. Why would they waste it? Are they picky eaters? Where does the food go? Small stomachs? What are stomachs?
The small one seems to be struggling to carry the bag, her father offering to hold it for her but she refused. These bipedal creatures are peculiar, different from the rest who walk on their six or four, different from the screeching birds that run across the fields.
In their stride to return to where they come from, the young point one of her fingers in a direction. Straight to where the doll was watching this whole time.
The marionette quickly drops her head to the ground, her arms sprawled over the grass. They saw her, they saw her watching. Bad, this is bad. They rip her open too, they skin her alive as well. They're not like the rest, they know, they know!
Each second passing in the wind, the faking doll could hear their footsteps growing closer. The grass folding, crunching, until a shadow casts over her torso. The doll felt something wrapping around her head, a hand pulling her up.
Her arms hung aimlessly, not even daring to move a single bit. Though eyeless, she can see the lizard man's yellow eyes glaring right at her, the rows of teeth outlining his jaw.
"Did some city folk drop their toy or something?" He hissed, his eyes travelling down to the plastic tag that miraculously was still attached to the puppet's collar. "'For my favourite doll', huh."
"Can we keep her?" The little one eagerly asked.
"We're not collecting scraps, Lishah. We're just cleaning up after some people who don't know how to take care of their belongings." The father took a second look at the puppet. "Maybe someone actually threw this thing away. Looks worse for wear, if you ask me."
"But I swear I saw it staring at us!"
The reptile hummed at his daughter's words.
The puppet was the stiffest she's ever been. They were going to do something to her, they were gonna crush her skull, they were gonna rip her apart bit by bit with their teeth and leave nothing behind for the forest to savour. She knows, she definitely knows it.
The veins around the lizard man's body suddenly glowed, travelling up his shoulders to his arms and finally the edge of his fingertips. And then, a stinging shock.
The doll's arms suddenly started flailing out of control, her neck whipping her head wildly forcing the lizard man holding her to throw her. She rolls around the grass, smoking out of every hole in her body. Screaming, she felt like screaming even though she couldn't. All she could do was cover her eyes in the mix of it all, turning over and over again.
The father and daughter pair looked at the doll, the daughter shocked and the father not.
"It's a Tekhanure." He merely said.
"Those giant machine people?" The daughter asked. "Can we keep her?"
"Lishah, they're not pets you take in."
"I'll take good care of her!"
"What did I just say?!"
The lizard man covers his face and shakes his head, a sharp sighing from his slithering tongue.
"I suppose we can't just leave it here--"
"Yay!"
"We're sending it to the chief."
"Aww…"
And when the pain that she finally recognised had subsided, the doll had found herself flying off the ground. Her collar was hung around the fingers of the lizard man, her dress and jacket barely scraping the grass.
From the pleasant fields to the inner maws of the forest, the puppet felt nothing but dread.