>>285
Grasping at faint threads of memory in the back of your head, you vaguely recall something about CPR and reviving unconscious people. But how many chest compressions were you supposed to do per rescue breath again? And what position do the arms go in for the recovery position? You are almost paralysed by uncertainty, before remembering about that "kiss of life" business.
You fill your lungs with air, awkwardly clamp your lips onto hers and tip her head back to open her airway. Her skin is damp, cold and pale. You exhale as hard as you can, and are rewarded by seeing her little chest rise a little, like some sort of accelerated thelarche. You repeat this twice more, after which you pull back and find that she is breathing - albeit shallowly - unaided. You breathe a sigh of relief.
>>286
You feel that your poor tongue has gone unused and unloved for too long now. You use your tongue to lick the back of your hand, appreciating the slightly salty taste of the sweat. You also using your tongue to taste a sausage and to lap some water from the river. You hope your tongue appreciates this humble gesture.
>>287
The sausage you saved from the river is the téliszalámi you received back at >>205, in addition to which you have located a bratwurst in the pile of loose sticks. Unfortunately, both have been badly soaked; one by immersion in a river, the other from prolonged exposure to rain. You visually appreciate the unusual texture and colouration of the téliszalámi, deciding it to be the one that looks best. You carefully saw a slice or two off using your nail file and offer them to Ariadne, but she remains obstinately unconscious.
>>288
Being surrounded by so much greenery suddenly makes you see red. This accursed vegetation has foiled you at every turn, and it needs to be shown a lesson. As you well know, the one thing that strikes fear in to the heart of any plant fears is being eaten. Not just the fruit - the stem, leaves, roots, everything. You take a deep breath and condemn yourself to becoming a monster, a bringer of death to all Viridiplantae.
You begin by masticating a few nearby leaves. They are waxy and bitter; not a good start. You happen to notice, concealed behind it, a few bunches of bright red berries. Well, if you're going to eat all the plants, you may as well start with some which look reasonably edible, you decide. A vagrant thought stays your hand - aren't bright red things usually poisonous? You shrug it off and gleefully stuff your cheeks with berries, chewing and swallowing as fast as possible.
Unfortunately for you, it seems they were exhibiting Müllerian mimicry, not Batesian. You feel a piercing pain in your abdomen, followed by a constriction of the throat. You collapse to the ground in the grips of a seizure, foaming from the mouth. The world reels away from you in a darkening blur of pain and uneaten foliage.
GAME OVER
Deaths: 9
(Continuing from most recently saved game: >>289)
Having successfully resuscitated your beloved daughter, you sit down for a rest on the riverbank. It is roughly midday, and the sky is slowly clouding over, though not threatening any further rain just yet. The red bird has flown across to the opposite end of the clearing from the river, where there is a thick band of torn and uprooted trees leading to the Northwest.
All is peaceful for a moment, quiet but for the call of the stream behind you. Just as Ariadne is beginning to stir, you become aware of a rhythmic thumping noise, and the telltale cracking sound of tree trunks being split asunder. You look to the Northwest, seeking the source, only to find a large, greenish brown sauropod has appeared at the edge of the clearing. It is enormous; at least four metres tall at the shoulder, and more than twenty metres from head to tail. It stares at you indifferently, chewing on the foliage from a nearby tree. The red bird is perched right on top of its head.
You're no expert on the subject, but you believe it to be a brontosaurus.