Fox's Glade caleb meyer your ghost is going to wear them rattling chains

He slept little since his run-in with Merrick. He was too proud to return home, but never had he wished for Laurel's company more than this hour. Someone that would tell him it was okay. That he would be okay.

In every shifting shadow he saw Merrick's flame-licked gaze. In every hole, Merrick's empty eye-socket.

He ran.

Down past the glades and the evergreens, down past snow and trickling springbrooks. Down across the plains where his paws calloused and his figure went from stocky to hardened and lean -- to finally, wasting. Muscle and fat melting from him, his figure young but too lean to be in good health.

Everywhere he went, the ghoul followed.

Riley kept on, running running running running as he had done a thousand lifetimes ago, in another age, another being -- running, as he would always do until the day he died anew.