Osiris

Prologue

(Note from the author:

Terminology:

Stallion: Male over two years old. (Adult)

Hen: Female over two years old. (Adult)

Stag: Male between 1-2 years of age (Teenager)

Pullet: Female between 1-2 years of age (Teenager)

Cockerel: Male under a year old (Baby/kid)

Filly: Female under a year old (Baby/kid) ) 

The sky was dark grey, thick with smoke and ash. The air was gritty and choking, filled with debris. Everything was different since the Earth shook and the star fell to the ground. The large animals knew their time was up, while for the small, it was a feast of corpses. They dragged their meat underground, or descended from the air and picked at it with sharp beaks.

Of the large animals, there were theropods called Dakotaraptor. Or, at least, that is what humans would call them. All of the Dakotas in the area had grouped together, now numbering about ninety. However, they were dying out quickly, and the old, weak, sick, or overly large were the first to go. They were not hungry, as there was plenty of meat. The carcasses made sure of that. No. What the Dakotas needed was water. All of the usual streams were clogged with ash, and the animals that drank from them quickly died. After the first twenty had gone, the Dakotas had learned. Either they die from poisoning or thirst. There was no other choice.

It was a stag that found the hole. He was a beautiful animal, bright red with white stripes and olive green eyes. His thirst was what led him away from his group. He trekked for an hour through the woods. The leaves and bark were black and the ferns were pale and wilting. The air was insufferable. He found nothing but ash-filled streams, and rotting triceratops carcasses. The grey, quill-covered bodies let off a putrid stench.

And then he found the hole, or rather, he fell in it. He felt the ground shift under him, then pull down, sucking him with it. Fear shot through him, and his heart fell faster than his body. Blood pounded in his head. He let out a yelp of fear, and thudded painfully in the dirt on his side.

Everything was a deep black. The only light came from the grey hole in the sky. The stag took deep breaths, trying to regain himself. Every intake hurt because of his parched, dry throat, but he realized the air was clearer under the ground than above, and that it was easier to breathe, even if it was stale from being underground. It was a relief, even if he could not see anything.

He sniffed the air, happy that for the first time since the strike, he could smell something other than ash or rot. And what he did smell was cool, clear, and fresh. Could it be water? he thought to himself elatedly.

He quickly pushed himself off the ground, and leaned into a tunnel wall. I have to find it. And with a mixture of youthful curiosity, teenage stupidity, and plain desperation, he started to walk. He moved forward quickly but carefully, alighting his feet on the ground without much pressure. He was lucky, the cave stayed relatively tall. It was scary, terrifying, even, being in all that darkness. But he needed water. His species needed water. They were the last of a kind. If they were going to survive, they had to drink.

And then something wet splashed against his foot.

Water.