Disclaimer: Whee! I own nothing at all here! Nill! Zip! Nada!
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Dammit, it was cold, wet, and nasty. Unfortunately, she would never be able to see its original colour, because her subsequent vomit attack had coated everything within a radius of 6 metres with a soft blanket of stomach acid and semi-digested food. Not a pleasant way to start a morning. Even worse, her favourite blue halter top was ruined.
"Christ, what the hell is this?" Kyra asked (to herself, obviously).
She was soon to find out, because as soon as she tried to place her hand on the ground to get up, there was a loud, gooey, squelching sound coupled with some cold, viscous substance oozing between her fingers. Kyra's body immediately started the extremely effective "Possible Disease" response protocol, ignoring that her stomach had already been cleared of everything previously inside it. The effectiveness of the "Possible Disease" response protocol has been questioned, because it's incredibly unclear as to how spewing a torrent of quasi-soup will help to eliminate pathogens.
Kyra moved her hand to the left. Again, the squelching. But also, something smooth, hard, and curved. Hmmmm. Taking a desperate gamble, she turned her head to look at her hand, and, by extension, the substances it was resting in.
"Oh, my, god. OH MY GOD!"
A thick, darkish sort of red ooze had enveloped her fingers, and her palm was resting on what appeared to be a rib. Suddenly, she realized why her pants were starting to feel moist.
Oh fuck. I am sitting in a fucking dead body. Shit, shit, shit.
Kyra was, however, still at a loss as to what nature of a dead body it was. Turning her head quickly, she was able to determine that in addition to being rather black and fuzzy, it had four legs, a tail, and a long neck. The head remained invisible. Kyra looked around again and rose. She quickly spotted it laying in a river-like mass of flowing water, which she had been unable to notice before, being preoccupied with the horrors of the halter-top and disgusto-fingers. To her surprise, she found a big black cloth-like blob, with something underneath it. Being the naturally curious person that she was, Kyra looked under the blob, which was also cold, wet, and nasty.
"Sweet. A sword," she said, rather sarcastically.
Most people would have been happy to have a sword in place like that, for swords have an incredible myriad of uses, the discussion of which is beyond the scope of this story. Kyra, however, would have preferred: a) a cell phone, b) some lip gloss, c) some soap for her hands, or d) a new halter top. Sadly, none of these were to be found.
With a metallic zing, she pulled the thing out of the scabbard. It took a good deal of effort, for the metal had already started to rust, and Kyra veered towards the thin-because-of-eating-habits side, rather than the thin-because-of-exercise side. Still, she managed to get the thing out, and...
... managed to cut herself. A big, nasty looking gash on her dirty palm. Caused by lack of ability to have a sword magically suspend itself in the air when you put the blade on your hand with no support whatsoever.
So Kyra was left there with a bleeding hand, which was surrounded by decomposing body matter, cold, wet, and feeling generally miserable. So what did she do? She sat down and cried.