Lion Head Mesa toy soldier's march

So quick did Andalib avoid any vacant body he passed, hidden among mud and rubble like the fallen stones around them. His stomach twisted, a fresh mind not unknowing of the horrors surrounding him, but unfamiliar with the sheer number. He hoped to never see, or know it, again.

The water growing deeper was enough to give him pause, where he lingered and paced like a nervous deer at the edge of a chasm. Still, there was a beast of foolishness gnawing at him, and it pushed him to leap. With a whine, he condemned himself to the red-clay stain soon to dirty his fur, going from a wade to an anxious paddle. He bumped something that made his skin crawl, feeling it bob away from him - he was distracted only by the second urging. The sight of a... wolf?

Nearer did he swim, and yet, the wolf did not grow any larger. Andalib was unsettled by the lack of floor beneath his paws, hooking his front legs up on the shelf. Just enough to anchor himself for a moment. After he heaved a breath of relief, Andalib found it in himself, young and hardy, to grin; a wide, shaky, pure thing. I found you!

He shook his head off, even if it threatened to make him dip further, spraying a fine mist from his snout and cheeks. Andalib looked to the stranger, practically as sopping as he, murmuring a little quieter, as if the dead around them could hear, I know the way out, I can bring you out of here.