Slow Down

Echo pants with effort as she trudges up the grassy hill, primarily focusing on simply putting one foot in front of the other. She just has to get up this slope, then the hardest part of her walk home is over… but man, whose idea was it to put this hill here? In the summer heat? So incredibly rude. At least it’s starting to cool down… now that the sun is slowly starting to set. Which means the grey Amicabot is in for a whole summer of days that wear her down until the sun’s reign of terror ends… fun. 

She heaves a sigh of relief as she finally makes it to the top of the hill, but now that she’s come to a halt, Echo is forced to take note of her protesting internal mechanisms. They whirr and whine with the effort of keeping up with the heat and the physical activity, and she hunches over with her hands on her thighs as she pants to cool off. She may never know what she was built to do, but unless the eruption thoroughly weakened her in invisible ways, or ways that are impossible to repair, Echo’s starting to get the feeling she really wasn’t designed with physical activity in mind.

No matter how much she tries to set the concerning sounds her body is making aside, they just keep nagging at the back of her mind. Her fluffy tail gives a quick, frustrated lash. Echo just wants to go home, but those noises feel like a threat and a warning all in one annoying package. It would probably be better if she took a moment to rest, before she finds out the hard way exactly where her limits lie… not that the partially furry Amicabot really wants to rest, not when she’s so close to home. 

But at the same time, actually making it home sounds far more appealing than passing out on the way there. It feels a little too soon for her to be brought in for repairs again. Finding a shaded spot beneath a tree, Echo slowly, carefully sits down on the grassy ground; thanks to the shade, the grass is pleasantly cool against her overheated joints. Much to her relief, her internal whirring quiets down a little as she sits, but she has a sneaking suspicion that it’s going to be a while before it’s a good idea to get moving again. 

With a defeated huff, Echo props up her chin with a padded palm, gazing out at the horizon. The sun is well and truly beginning to set now, so it’ll definitely be dark by the time she gets home; something she prefers to avoid. But as she looks idly at the sky, it becomes harder for her to say she really minds being forced to take it slow for a little bit; the setting sun has painted the sky in various bright, warm shades. Mostly orange, but some of the clouds have been tinted with pink.

A small smile spreads across Echo’s faceplate. Is this what she’s been missing by always trying to race the sun home? Gorgeous, brightly coloured scenes where the sky takes on the appearance of a warm, inviting fire? If she were an artist, she might be inclined to get back up right now, and track down her tools to capture the moment. But… Echo isn’t an artist. At least, she doesn’t think she is. But… does that really matter? Sure, it means she’s no good at capturing moments of brief beauty like this… But it also means she gets to stop and really appreciate them while they’re here.