Wapun Meadow huir

soto continued, muscles quivering in protest with every reaching stride. an ear trained behind him informed him his pursuers have not ceased their stalking.

he continues straight, visually mapping the path to take him out of the rolling valley and into thick hinterland. out of great conservation he avoids going uphill — he trots down a gulley where the plants lean thick on the path, brushing their damp leaves against his wailing limbs.

the thud of escorting paws never ends. after a while his hammering heart settles and he catches a second wind. but if he’s recovered, so have his pugilistic pursuers.

with the last of his sapping energy soto pushes his exhausted body into a second sprint, diving into underbrush that leads him south to the red dunes.

he’a certain these hellhounds would follow him to the end of the earth if they could. later he would have to lick his aching wounds; for now, his adrenaline kicks in long enough for him to stave off crumbling exhaustion.