the clouds hung heavy in the sky, bearing with them the promise of a storm. within an hour, the bulk of the rain would break over redsand canyon; in its wake, finding water at their roots for the first time in months, the wildflowers would sprout into blankets of vibrant color, washing the hills and valleys and bone-dry desert sand in a rainbow of red and purple and gold.

but new life was for the future. for now, the rain took as much as it gave.

between the sloping canyon walls, as though the very earth itself had an open, snarling mouth, the eerie stillness of the air broke into a low rumble.

the dry riverbed rose to a gentle trickle, twisting new serpentine paths in the sand. and then it rose further, built into a rushing sheet that spread until it filled the shallow gulley where a river once had run. little more than half an inch of water, rust-dark with silt and mud, dislodged pebbles and loose fragments of stone and flung them downstream.

all at once, the rumble became a roar. borne just behind it: nearly four feet of dark brown water that crashed against the canyon walls as it rounded the corner, dragging a thick film of splintered wood and stolen rock atop.

the wall of mud raced down the shallow valley like a living creature, obliterating everything in its path. hanging branches and hardy saplings snapped like twigs and were cast aside; torn scraps of flower and brush, pine needles and leaves, roiled in its depths. the water scooped boulders from their resting places as a child might lift a toy and bore them along as though they weighed no more than a feather.

the air remained still. the flash flood below howled a warning to anyone, wolf or otherwise, who might be standing in its path: should they be caught in its unforgiving jaws, they would not come out alive.