by Ralonica » Sat Oct 26, 2013 12:51 pm
Username: Ralonica Thorondor
Name: Rane
Type: Marcher
Height: 1,39
Gender: Doe
Story:
I was such a rowdy nuglet. Risky, daring and energetic, nothing could calm me down. I always wanted to prove that I could leap the highest, run the fastest, turn the quickest. I believed that I was the strongest, bravest, fastest, smartest and most courageous nuglet that ever lived.
I was cocky, loud, and truly obnoxious. And not even the harshest scolding from the sternest doe could put me in my place.
My childhood memories are full of daring escapades, crazy adventures and silly attempts to prove my strength and valour to the other nukkitas and nuglets. But the adults thought I was amusing and naïve, and my peers thought I was a general pain in the behind with all my daring theatrics. Only a small, quiet handful of nuglets actually admired my skill, and they were all younger than me, and too naïve to see anything else.
There is one memory, though, that stands out from all the daring tricks of my innocent youth. Funnily enough, this was the most humiliating and terrible experience I had when I was a nuglet.
It’s interesting how the good memories fade in your mind, but the bad memories are always as clear as the day they happened.
~~~
It was late summer, the weather teetering on the cusp of autumn, the trees starting to shed their leaves while the drowsy warmth of summer lingered, not willing to give in to the chilly bite of autumn wind. The days were balmy, the nights cool and sharp and us nuglets rejoiced in the new leaf litter that carpeted the ground. I was at the fore of the frolicking youth, eager to prove myself to the others, eager to earn glory in the changing season.
The herd was lingering in the mountains, on a large plateau that was surrounded by a sloping valley on one edge, a steep ridge on the other and massive rock piles in between. The youngsters made their fun by racing along the top of the ridge, up and down the slope of the valley and in and out of the rock piles. The more daring of us barrelled down the side of the ridge, our momentum rolling us across the plateau to finally reach the rocks, where we leapt up the piles of fragmented stone to leap from one pile to the other. We would race each other down this steep, wild course, trying to be the first to reach the summit of the tallest rock pile.
I was the riskiest of all of the nuglets. The others would check their speed as they ran down the slope, going that little bit slower so they could find sure footing. They would slow down as they loped across the plateau, and as they reached the rock piles they would pause between each jump, gathering themselves and carefully calculating each leap. But I wouldn’t take such precautions. I couldn’t. I was the fastest, strongest and bravest of all the nuglets and someone of such skill couldn’t possibly make way for cautious actions.
In those days on the plateau, I raced with danger. I enticed it, and although my mother warned me, it was too thrilling to stop. Everyone thought I would come to a bad end. I was the example that does used to warn their nuglets of what could happen. I was the bad girl. And I had no idea of what I was doing.
Cool autumn gradually took over the balmy summer days, and the weather became cloudy, bearing the hint of rain. The youngsters became restless, frisking and play fighting, running around more than ever, anxious and energetic. And I ran the gauntlet again and again, from the ridge to the rocks, beating every other nuglet as I was more daring and risky than they were. I put my life on the line.
Pretty soon the other nuglets tired of being beaten. They soured their tempers towards me, and I soon had to bribe them to race – enticing them with head starts to make them believe they could win. But again and again they declined and my restlessness grew. But after my constant pleading, a small group of rowdy young bucks agreed, determined to put me in my place, on the terms that if they lost the race I wouldn’t ask again.
The race started immediately. I gave the others a head start of a few metres, from courtesy, but also because I was convinced I would thrash them with my superior speed. So as soon as they had gone a fair way, I took off – racing down the ridge at an uncontrollably fast speed, gaining on the others with every stride I took.
I reached the plateau too fast. I couldn’t control my strides. I was running because if I stopped I would fall, my momentum pushing me on. I drew equal with the others, slowly drawing in front, unable to slow my steps and enjoying every minute of it.
I loved every moment of that race. I ate up the adrenaline like a hungry nukkita, relishing the feeling as I bypassed my opponents. I approached the rocks at a flying speed, joyfully running as fast as I could.
That’s when the first feeling of fear hit me. My exhilaration dropped. I couldn’t slow down, and I was approaching the rocks too fast to turn away. I was running, head first, into a dangerous place. And I could find no way out.
As soon as that horrible realisation hit me, I started to dig in my hooves. With each step I planted my hooves hard into the ground, my strides becoming jarred and awkward as I tried to slow down. I felt my momentum lessening, but I would still reach the rocks at a terrifying speed.
I soon came close to the first pile. Close to the first place where we jumped, the place where we started to ascend to the tallest pile. Going so fast I could barely think, I realised that I would have to take a leap. Otherwise, I would end up smashing into the first rock pile.
I frantically gathered myself, leaping up onto the first pile. I was too fast, I was too unbalanced. As soon as my hooves scraped the top of the pile, I slipped. My legs came out from underneath me, and I was falling – falling to the ground.
I hit the ground with a sickening thud. My right foreleg hit the ground first, jarring terribly. Pain shot up through the leg, into my shoulder, and the rest of my body followed. I couldn’t feel anything except fiery pain through my leg and shoulder. I didn’t move. I was in shock, the sound of blood pumping in my ears, the adrenaline of the moment still in my system.
Pretty soon I registered the sound of running nukkitas, and in moments my line of sight was filled with the faces of concerned nukkitas who had seen my fall. As soon as I saw them, my mouth turned into a grimace. I propelled myself into a standing position, pushing myself up with my back legs, curling my tail high over my back. Daring to put weight on my injured limb, I snapped at the other nukkitas, biting at them until they left.
The next few days were torture. My injury wasn’t serious, but it kept me from running for four days. For the first day I limped pitifully around, watching woefully as the other nuglets ran the very gauntlet I had run – but slower, and without injury. I was bitter. I was hurt. I was inconsolable.
But after that first 24 hours of agony, things got better. My cocky behaviour peeled away, the self-glory vanishing as I watched the others run. For the first time in my life I wasn’t strong, I wasn’t fast. I could hardly walk, I was in a bad mood, but I learnt so much.
After the difficult days things got better. I could walk and run properly. I even dared to run the gauntlet, but slower and more cautiously than even the most timid nuglets had been. I was tentative about running, fearful that I would fall, that next time I would not heal. But over time, my confidence and daring approach to life flowed back into me.
My obnoxious and reckless streak was destroyed when I fell.
Now, I’m so much more aware of everything. I’m more humble, more careful, but still confident and courageous. And when I see an obnoxious and cocky nukkita walk by, I feel so thankful I didn’t end up like that.
