Moonspear I don't play if I can't win.

The world had gone utterly mental in the past few weeks and Blitz didn't know where to go, who to turn to, or what to do about the trembling earth. There really was nothing he could do about it except for run, full-tilt, while trying to avoid a rockslide or the deterioration of the mountain path as he careened along. The wolf had not come this way by choice.

He had been exploring further south when the world began to die; whatever monster slept beneath rhe crust was much more immense than the native inhabitants could ever know. Hell, Blitzkrieg had been living south of the Teekon Wilds for ages now, surviving on his wits, avoiding anything that even vaguely resembled the black winged beast which had stolen him from home — out of one fire, in to another, right? If it wasn't a skyward demon trying to snatch you, it was the earth eager to gobble you up! How unfair.

Okay, back to the moment at hand: Blitz was running along a jagged path that cut northward across a mountain slope, breathing hard, tasting copper in his saliva, feeling the burn of his lungs and tongue. He slid to a stop on the edge of a ravine but was nearly bowled in to it by his own momentum; for a brief yet terrifying moment his hindquarters went up, and he thought he'd tumble butt-over-face down the cliffside to the gully below.

When his paws touched down against the soil again he felt a flood of relief — and as his heart's pace began to regulate he took a breath, becoming suddenly aware of wolf scent (@Hydra). In a matter of seconds he would likely be the target of some guardsman, considering he had inadvertantly crossed in to claimed territory during his frenzied sprint.