Even louder than the shaking double doors, her heart pound within her chest. After a while the lazygait loose interest, probably in favor of the more easily available moss. She gasps for air, noticing first now that she was holding her breath. Finally her heart understands that the danger is over and calms down. She sighs. Her hands hurt from where the tendrils held her but also from clasping on to the spear so hard. As the blood returns to her pale knuckles it also pearls out of her wound. She cuts a piece of her shirt and wraps it around her hand.
Slumping down against the wall her heart jumps to her throat. She was so intent on fleeing a danger that she did not inspect the room she fled to. Now her lightcaster illuminates it and reveals yet another lazygait. She freeze and stares at it. It has its back against her and doesn’t move. Perhaps it’s sleeping, or dead. It looks almost translucent.
She gets to her feet, slowly as to not make a sound. Not that sound seems to bother these kind of creatures that much. She moves her lightcaster from side to side, trying to get a clearer view of the creature. It does cast a shadow but it’s an odd one. It falls inside of the lazygaits skin as if it were hollow.
She walks toward it, one step at the time. Like its larger kin in the other room it ignores her. She knows better than to trust it but she’s still curious. She reach out to touch it, holding her hand an inch from its skin and, not knowing it herself, holds her breath again.
She taps it and withdraws, holding her arm to her chest and jumping back a step. Cracks radiate through the lazygaits skin, covering an area roughly the size of her palm, before it crumbles into flakes and falls inward. “Oh.” It’s not a lazygait, just the molted skin of one. She steps up to it again, break off a piece and holds it in front of the lightcaster. The skin is hard but brittle, like you would expect dried up skin to be. There’s no way to transport this back to town without it falling apart completely and she sees no value in the flakes.
She taps a hole in the side of the molted skin to get a look inside but when she leans in she scrapes the sides of the hole causing the entire skin to shake and fall apart. Too bad. If it was sturdier it could have served as a cozy sleeping cave. Poking through the skin flakes with the butt of her spear she feels something. She bends down to brush away the broken skin.
There, previously hidden in the hollow dried up skin, lays an egg. She picks it up gently. A piece of the skin is stuck to its bottom. She taps the egg gently. It seems to be a lot sturdier than the old skin. She wraps it in her blanket and sticks it in her bag. Maybe she can sell it to a farmer.