Chapter fourteen! I don't own ice age! copyright 20th century fox! If i did own it, i wouldn't write any fanfictions. A you can see, I am writing a fanfiction, thus I don't own it.

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please forgive me for any coarse language used- it's the characters talking, not me!

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Buck

I crash through the undergrowth, tripping over anything and everything. The world is a spinning, blurry ball of confusion and nonsense. But I have to find her.

I will not lose her again.

And now I am falling, falling into a dark world where I will remain forever. The light is disappearing, a pinprick in my vision...

All goes black.

My eyes slowly open. I rub them, trying to clear the blurriness and only partially succeeding at first.

I groan. How long have I been out? It could have been minutes, seconds, days or hours.

I sit up and try to stand, taking in my surroundings. The lighting is dim; I look up and realize I've fallen into a crevice in a ravine. It's a wonder I survived with little or no injuries. Around me, I can just make out the outlines of trees, bushes, and some small dinosaurs that I've seen before. The harmless kind.

I calculate how far I fell, about ten feet, and look at the walls. With a grunt, I place my paws on the hand and footholds the wall provides, begin to climb, and fall down.

And then I am doubled over, retching and spewing out what must be half my internal organs.

I lie there, curled up in a ball, shivering and nautious for what seems like an eternity, unable to move. And finally, I hear Ellie.

"Buck?" she calls, leaning over the edge of the crevice. I find myself unable to speak, unable to make any sound at all. Finally, I give up the fight.

My head falls, the blackness consumes me once more.

Tabitha

I remember a lot. I forget just as much, but what I do remember, I remember clearly.

I wasn't always the tough, stop-annoying-me-Eddie-before-I-sock-your-ugly-face, used-to-living-on-the-streets kind of girl. At one point, a long, long, long time ago, before any of this nonsense with dead Moms and missing dads and being presumed dead happened, before I realized that Saber toothed tigers and weasels don't usually mix, I was...Well, I was a happy little kid. Hair in pigtails. Believes in the fairies. Wants to be a mermaid when they grow up. You get the picture.

I always wondered how long you were supposed to act like that. How long until you were really supposed to see the world and all it's terrors.

I don't think six years old is the right age. I really don't.

Maybe that's why "weird" is usually how other girls describe me. Because I am weird.

I mean, what normal kid is nearly torn to shreds twice? I don't know any other kids my age who only have a dad; whose other parent died like mine did.

I mean, I know their out there, but...Where? I want to know. Because they would have gone through the same pain, the same grief, the same misery. They wouldn't have the exact same story,. maybe they wouldn't have starved like I did, been pushed around like I did; maybe they'd have had it better, maybe their dad found them, maybe they made friends. Or perhaps they had it worse. Maybe their dad drinks or beats them up or maybe both parents died and maybe they're emo or got cancer or lost an arm...

Waiting has never been my stronghold. I am impatient. I like to do things quickly. I don't often think before I act.

Sound much like my dad?

Which is why laying in a pond, dead tired and bleeding in various places and most likely scratched by poison ivy or something, waiting for death, is agonizing. It hurts almost as much as the actual dying part.

It hurts so much because I have to think.

I have to remember.

I have to remember my mother telling me to run, I have to remember starving. I have to remember being orphaned. I have to remember the smell of her fur, the way her eyes sparkled when she laughed. The way my dad used to smile when he kissed her forehead.

It was a smile reserved just for her. A smile I have not seen in eight years. A small smile; a smile so small it took up his whole face. The way his eyes crinkled, the way the corners of his mouth turned up just so, the way...

All these things, gone. Each one comes back just to stab me in the heart like a dagger.

I wish I could die already. I could be at peace.

I believe in Heaven.

I remember someone told me, maybe my grandma (maternal side), before she died, that all good children go to heaven.

Now, I haven't exactly been an angel, I'll admit. I cuss, I yell, I'm temperamental. I've stolen loads of times, but for the most part only food, to survive. I don't really think that counts. I've lied, too. But I was also told that sins can be forgiven.

Now, I'm not a particularly religious person (actually, I basically never pray...like, never ever ever), and I have questioned the existence of a God before, but right now, I'm not taking chances.

I pray.

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