The young woman stirred lightly as a small groan emitted from her parched lips. Head spinning, her eyes parted with almost immediate regret. The sun waxed hot on her dark skin, and she could feel fine sand or dirt grit between her toes. She wiggled them with a light wince and wondered why she had no shoes on her feet. As a matter of fact, she pondered, where was she period? More importantly, -who- was she? The realization that she had no answer to either question caused the woman to sit up as quickly as her aching body would allow, and her eyes widened to observe the landscape around her.
As was to be expected, it was brown and dry. However, it also sloped downwards into what seemed an oblivion of dirt, rocks, and dying shrubs. The air was thin and hinted at fading smolders. Her dark green eyes quickly found the remains of a fire, the ashes stirred and puffy from lack of interference. Had she created a fire at some point, and to what end? The lack of memory was confusing and overwhelming, and she sucked in sharply as she covered her face with her hands. She felt her chest rise and fall quickly as her heart beat incessantly loud. It was a lonely moment on a lonely mountain.
It was in this moment that she also noticed just how dirty her hands were. She could smell the earth caked onto them and nearly taste the dust. Not sure why, she felt ashamed at her condition and she pulled her hands away. The dirt didn't stop at her hands and in fact speckled her arms and even some of her legs. Her clothes were in shambles and looked as though they hadn't been washed or changed in ages. The short sleeved shirt and long shorts were made of coarse material that lacked color or decor, but what did that matter on a mountainside?