Mia 11th 81380 "Sir, we really must be going --" Yuil had managed to pitch her voice above the high braggadocio of wind, An Amazing Feat. She'd be better off belting her innards out on some stage, not here in BFE with him, in the sand and Pwa's heated breath, digging for mold. <font color = aquamarine>"Go back t'th'ship, sweet'eart. I'm almost finished 'ere."</font> For once the many energies of talking became funneled into his hole he had dug in the nifty shade near a rock. Brilliant white Lukuo, crouching there by said rock, was no longer brilliant white but instead a rather becoming shade of puce brought on by lengthening torrents of wind-tossed sand. Yuil was probably right -- she usually was. It was time to leave. Storm coming. And this of fire. But he wasn't gonna go. "Sir!" Little Yuil had an arm thrown against her face. She coughed once, than attempted to hail Doctor Airman again. "Sir! If we're going to out fly this storm we have to leave NOW dammit!" <font color = aquamarine> "No no no no , I 'ave t'get this specimen. Go back t'th'ship an' wait for me thar. This specimen..."</font> Was deathly important. At least to him, anyway. Nope. He'd find it before the sandstorm came, of course he would. He glanced up and Yuil was not present. Then a sharp something; darkness and sudden weight pressing... ever... downwards... Apollo awoke to sheer serenity. The entire waking process in itself was slow and tasted horrible, but then again he had been unconscious with his mouth open. Should've drowned. More luckiness: his choosen location had served to partially shelter him. Without a doubt he'd be buried six feet deep if not for his friend, the rock. Many-orbed Lukuo pulled himself from the wrecked earth and lay, panting -- floating practically -- facing crystalline heavens. He momentarily remembered to check for Yuil, but the transport, his ship, for the love of...was gone. Totally disappeared. Had she taken off into safety before it struck? If so, where was she now? If not...well, where was she now?! No matter the amount of eyes he opened, Polly could see nothing in five directions save for sand, dunes, sand dunes, 'few clouds. A frightened mind raced and quickly determined he was quite doomed. Moth-wings flicked. Bah, useless devices, these. Hardly strong enough to carry him across town, let alone to the nearest trace of civilization. Disfigured Botanist plopped down upon his friend, acknowledging this defeat, and commenced gazing at his tailflame, drawing a blank and very much alone. <font color = aquamarine>"This is great. Just great. An' look, m'hole is covered up! I was so close! Too close...but still. If I ever get out o'this rotten...if I ever get rescued, if somebody actually cares, I may just hop right back 'ere an' attempt t'dig it back up again. But I'll 'ave you as a guide, dear rock."</font>
