Luneshale Pass [m] hilo rojo

@Nokht

The sun’s dead and gone by the time the white ridges of Luneshale come into view.
Niño readjusts his grip on the boy’s scruff and pads into camp.
He’s spent, but doesn’t go to the den where his mate might be waiting.
Instead he tracks into one of the white stone chambers.
A cold room.
The desert is overwhelmed with cold in autumn nights.

He drops the child onto the marble flooring and leans himself against the far wall, panting.
Breath frosting the air.
Large paws acting as a barricade from escape.

“Intenta correr y te llevo los ojos.”

Hound's deep voice is dry and jarring.
Only then does he give the cub a once-over, perceiving the glint of strangely mismatched eyes.