Stone Circle And the universe reigned again.

Set around October 7/8/9.
Between  Flycatcher Downs &  Bearclaw Valley leading towards the pack's southern border. References to this major event in his life.

The stampeding limbs of the many elk came and went although the sound persisted inside of him, rebounding with every jostle of his body or thrust of his limbs through patches of snow; he felt the thunderous momentum of the herd even when he was alone, heard it like a drum beat, a visceral extention of his racing heart. It was unwise for the boy to go so far without an adult but he wasn't thinking about that as he sped from the scene of Kazimir's death; the days that followed were a jumble of panic and he could not manage the adrenaline that flooded his system, making him shake, reminding him of the violence of the crumbling mountains and the herd and the pulverized body of his protector — on and on it went, a vortex of traumatic memory that he could not stop. Not once did his mind wander beyond the images of those cloven hooves and many limbs crushing the woman's body, the sound of bones splintering, the call of her voice as she demanded he run. Mesa did not know how long he ran or where he went, only that he follow that instruction until his legs would not obey him any longer.

He was numb to the pain in his own body, the strain of his coltish limbs and heaving breaths. For a brief spell he had become like a hummingbird: panting so rapidly that he couldn't quite get a full breath in, and the carbon in his lungs fought to be released in equal measure, his ribs moving like a bellows as he wheezed breath after breath after dizzying breath—and that was when it happened. His legs felt like they were made of water and they refused to support him in his mania. One step too many, and he was abruptly without support, his hind end raising over his chest as he came over a rounded hill untouched by the disasters of the Wilds, and then he slammed against the dirt, still kicking his paws and trying to run even though the world was no longer beneath him. The boy spasmed there for a minute or two as he hyperventilated, reaching across the grass with one forelimb or kicking at the air with a hind leg until some semblance of calm descended across his heaving sides, and he went limp.

But he was still awake and still manic, staring at the tide of grass rolling around him, towards the spires of some distant stones that looked too alien to him to be real. His eyes rolled in his head and he shut them, gagging on air even as his breathing began to regulate, and before Mesa could do much else he felt a wave of nausea boiling in his belly that shot up through his throat, and suddenly he was dry-heaving sideways against the green.