Lion Head Mesa a final inundation

Gathered bodies pooled and twisted in expectant throngs, ushered into a chamber far beneath the earth where walls wept with moisture and shadows writhed like living things.

The Judgement of the Unworthy.
An undercurrent of anxiety.

The dog in the back of the chamber, berries fermented and shockingly red, swirled unhurriedly in his grasp. His gaze flicked between the forms of those he held dear, next to the ink-spill body of another, dusted in gold.

His approach was slow, unhurried even as ruby coated his paws, even as it left a trail through the silt.

But then the earth began its terrible shaking, and panic erupted.

He had never made it to his target, had never made it close.

As the opal eyes snapped to the sound of a great crumbling and cracking above, and dust clouded the earth below.

And when the earthen funeral shroud finally settled, when the chamber fell silent save for the groan of settling stone, only the ruby trail remained.