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The caverns that make up Waterfall are a twisting maze, filled to the brim with winding tunnels and forgotten passages. Many of which have long ago filled with the bioluminescent water that rushes through the crumbling stone.
Most are impossible to access by the main footpath that runs the entirety of the underground. It is FAR more ideal for the weary traveler to stay on the path, lest they get lost in the marshes, or the countless caves, or in a passage that’s just a little too tight….
Well, that is except for the locals.
They have a way of knowing the crannies and cracks in the walls; the secret passageways that trail off of mushroom lit paths; the secret little villages and borrows and pools.
…. Or, perhaps, the tiny tunnel within the main stretch of river- right where it stills enough to easily swim -that snakes far deeper into the Earth. An even tinier tunnel follows it, before finally turning upwards; every so slightly widening out until…
A wide, glassy pond yawns out, stretching seemingly impossibly wide against the tight squeeze from only minutes before. And beyond that, a small but open cavern full of fresh-ish air and soft marshgrass.
It has quite the view, lit mostly by the glowing mushrooms and water rather than the few scattered stones on the ceiling. A pleasant echoe, mostly still, and so out of the way that not even the folks with gills have found it.
At least, that’s what the small child that resides within hopes.
She’s perched on one of the taller rocks overlooking the pond, shaggy hair falling down her back and getting in her eyes. She doesn’t seem to notice- or rather, she’s too preoccupied to allow such things to do anything but add to her annoyance level.
Her tiny face twists in a scowl as she smashes the can clasped in her claws into the rock for what must be the billionth time, putting every bit of strength she can muster into it.
It simply bounces off; dented, but still protecting the ‘chicken’ inside.
Her eyes narrow into tight slits, a light tick finding its way into one. The torn picture on the outside looks back tauntingly, chicken and noodles torn to ribbons but still appetizing. It’s what drew her to the stupid thing in the first place.
It’s hard to find good food like that in the dump. She usually just relies on one of the pesky adults that ask too many questions and give too many weird looks towards her tangled hair or ratty clothes.
Today was gonna be different. Today she was gonna forage for herself. And she did.
If she can just get this. Stupid. Can. Open.
She beats it harder, letting out small, angry yells with each strike. When that doesn’t work, she gnaws on it instead.
Her mouth tastes like pennies and dump water (both of which she has tried).
It’s disgusting.
She spits the can out, returning to her bashing. Nothing. Just dents and tears and the clang of metal.
This isn’t fair. The picture looks SO GOOD. She worked so hard to get it, and she didn’t even get caught sneaking back ‘home’! She deserves this. She’s so hungry-
With a battle cry, the can is rocketed into the ground beside the rock.
It bounces. But it doesn't break.
Her hands shake. She can feel the angry tears beginning to well behind her eyes, gills flared and fins pressed so far down it hurts. The fury is rising in her throat, her face heating up along with-
Wait why is her soul burning. Wait why are her hands suddenly tingling-
A tiny, sparking thing materializes, barely taking form before it shoots into the can.
CRUNCH
She startles, nearly tumbling off of the rock as a couple of stray noodles spurt in her direction.
It is only after she’s clawed her way back on top and narrowed her eyes at the thing that she realizes what it is.
Sticking out of the corpse of her can, spilling some noodle and meaty innards across the grass and tickling the metal with an electric hum, is a tiny, little attack.
It is cyan, with a sharpened tip and a small stick sticking out of the end-
A spear.
SHE MADE A SPEAR.
Her previous hunger is forgotten in an instant as she scrambles over the rock and to her new weapon.
A hesitant hand hovers over it, before she touches her fingers to its cool surface-
It sparks her.
She hisses, but presses forward; prodding and poking until it takes to her hand. From there it is an easy tug, and it is free from the can.
The magic is fading fast. She can see her fingers on the other side; webbing muted by the vibrant blues.
That’s not good…. She thinks???
She’s not been around enough attacks to know, only that they look cool and can be arranged in fun ways-
It falls away into loose sparks before she can even TRY to save it.
That won’t do.
A focused look dances across her face. She sets her jaw, closes her eyes, and puffs out her cheeks. Something burns deep inside her chest, she just needs to bring it out and-
Another spear. Stronger and brighter than the last.
It settles in her hands, and she can’t help but giggle. This time, she allows herself to hold it out, as though she is warding off some evil thing.
Something about the action just feels right, so she keeps swinging.
And swinging, and posing, and holding it out heroically, until she’s jumping around and warding off imagined bad guys. A rock is vanquished here, an offending piece of marsh grass there. She is the sworn protector of her cave, and now she must act like it!!
More spears, more bad guys, more yells. She only stops when she has grown dizzy from the effort and lightheaded from laughing.
It is only then that she allows her weapon to fall away into loose magic (and herself into a giggling heap on the ground). The sky spins a little above her tiny little home, and suddenly the pillow she stole feels very nice under her head.
There’s more ‘heroic’ deeds to be done tomorrow, but right now, she needs to enjoy her ground soup.