Bitterroot Valley Enter, Pursued by a Memory

she shoves through the last stretch of birch with everything she has left, breath ragged in her lungs, paws striking the ground in uneven rhythm. she wasn’t built for sprints like this; light and quick, yeah, but her stamina was shit and she could already feel the burn licking up her sides.

she flattened her ears and pushed harder, claws scraping for purchase as the ground dipped—but if she could just make it under the first sweep of hanging branches, he’d lose sight trying to follow.

the grove’s edge is just between the trees. almost there. almost—she can even seen the hanging leaves from the willow—but no. there is a tremor of earth behind her, the rush of something big closing fast, then impact, heavy as a horse. she squeals.