Stone Circle A boy once wandered here, now a man stands broken

Borders had not truly concerned June for a good, long while, now. Especially not borders as faint as these. But, even if she had cared, she would not have noticed it in her chase.

Her dirty paws dug into the ground with each rapid step, her whole body twisting with the effort of throwing herself doggedly, pitilessly after her terrified prey. She was gaining on it, and as her field of vision narrowed (focus, and also a distinct lack of oxygen) to just the flashing white hindquarters of her quarry, she was bound to miss out on certain other stimuli. Namely, the whole ass wolf she raced by, not fifty yards difference between them.

Regarding the doe: Like her, it bled from a bite wound on its ankle, and, like her, it was doing an admirable job of ignoring that fact and carrying on anyway. Like her, it was rapidly losing steam. But, even as the wolf pushed herself to the very edges of her ability, she began to pull ahead.

A snarl of fury hissed between June's teeth. Her vision, which had begun to blacken, turned abruptly red. Still, she threw herself forward, step after step, leap after bound, falling further and further behind.