Northstar Vale And nobody owes you now

It was difficult to find purchase with each step. He could see some vague outlines of things, and if he was lucky then the grainy grey of distant light would catch in his retinas for a while; but as he scrambled along, Mou found the darkness to be more of an obstacle than it should've been. He, as a canine, might've been adapted to low-light, but this was something his body could not adapt to. So he did his best to climb, but on a more consistent basis his steps caught air or his paws caught the sharp edge of broken stone. The wetness he had felt before — with the mineral scent — was his own blood. No wonder the beast could track him so well.

He didn't care. The shelf proved to be quite an obstacle but he could climb it faster than the force that pursued him; and then, as if to confirm its frustrations, that voice boomed through the earth. It was like listening to a deity — he felt the voice through the earthen steps more than he heard it at first, and then it was everywhere. A grim voice tempting him with freedom.

Mou couldn't help but pause and shrink against the wall when it came upon him. A rapture of malevolent promises.

I could show you sleep, the voice promised; he could not reply of course, could not even whimper or weep as his fear spiked in to adrenaline, but he could climb faster. His reaching forepaws were slick with blood from all the climbing and hoisting, but soon his trail wasn't just bloody but warm and laced with ammonia — he'd thoughtlessly wet himself in fright.