Dahozhoni Meadow cut my loosened tongue

all welcome

she is fast.

darting.

weaving in between brush and dry land. paws scraping their way across the desolate meadow. her form sleek and fast, a blur amongst the arid wind.

her tongue lolls from her mouth. panting and thirsting for brief reprieve. her lungs burn. she is running, now, not just trotting. her legs moving like well oiled machines, reaching for more and more ground with each long stride. she is cutting across the landscape, leaving nothing but dust in her wake, thick plumes that reach to the sky.

she runs.

runs from what?

haunted. they are on her trail. she must be faster.