Wapun Meadow huir

to his relief it works; the two wolves sail past in a curtain of fury, dust and scree clattering behind them.

he does not even waste a molecule of his energy looking behind him. its waning fast; he can feel it sink back like the sucking waters of a tidal plain.

the wolves of bearclaw have left their mark on him. his chest is sodden with blood, a new scar across his muzzle, and a deep puncture at his hip.

he trains an ear behind him. they are pursuing still, but their steps are measured. he is tiring. they must be tiring too.

he tests their attentiveness by dropping to a loose canter, ready at a moment’s notice to put another burst of speed between them though he feels his steps flagging.