Ankyra Sound Uppskera

Whatever had drawn him down to the grotto today, it did not have good intentions with him.

He had thought it the will of the loa, but when the beast lifted its great head almost on cue and fixed him with dark, malevolent eyes, Sobo felt their absence in this place. His tongue tried to wet his bone-dry lips and his body cowered down of its own accord. Perhaps the bear would ignore him if he made himself small and insignificant.

No such luck. With an ominous growl, it rose from its place in the sand. Sobo felt his stomach drop out from under him. Before the monster took its first step, he was whirling, scrambling for the only safe direction there was: further down the coast. It occurred to him, a very fleeting thought indeed, that he should call for back-up from his pack, but the thought died immediately. Running was his only recourse. He could not endanger them.

Sobo thought he was flying. It was the fastest he had ever run. But the large, lazy gait of a bear belied its own speed, and anyway, he was not a very swift wolf. He thought he was flying, but that thought also died with a screaming yelp when its claws raked his backside and sent him tumbling to the ground.