Wild Berry Meadow You're not gonna make it.

onwards they went, grim shepherd, harried flock. shardik set his hateful eyes ahead, rounding each corner with bristling snarls. half expecting to see the dog that eluded him. half expecting to see nothing but darkness.

gradually the air was changing; shardik inhaled noisily through his fleshy nostrils, a guttural flap somewhere in his loose jowls fluttering. he knew that scent, fresh and clear and clean -- the scent of the overworld above them, chasing away the graft of rot that settled deep in these corridors bones, which stank of fetid and abominable things.

this was shardik's realm -- not the world above, but below -- he blinked slowly, those baleful eyes briefly shuttered. he knew soon the dog would come to whatever pathway the air sprung from, and hope would be born anew in his quarry.

round another bend he went, this time catching sight of the ethereal white of his prey laid flat on the ground. and then his prey rose, and then his prey was running.

he screamed in fury to see mou so close to escape, an abhorrent and offensive roar that shook the walls and sent dirt crumbling. in hysteric strides, shardik thundered towards the blade of stone, shouldered through it in a terrific crack of splintering rock, and then lunged towards that pale shaft of grey light and the cloud-white feist that flew towards it.