Lion Head Mesa toy soldier's march

He had gone as bid; legs and paws carrying him so quickly the warm breeze could hardly halt him - he pushed hard, fast, waltzing the dunes as if it were his eldest friend. To Akashingo, Pharaoh Samirseti had wished. He knew not what awaited him, but Andalib wasn't unwise to the strange taste in the air as he hedged into the region.

He had never been here, drawn only by fading scents and the place's grandeur, and what awaited him, as he clipped to the edge of safe land, drew him to a freezing stop. His legs ached as though he had traveled long enough, and it should have been the place - save for the picture of utter ruin. Dredges of water that did not suit the land remained, shimmering in the sun. 

What was he to do, if Akashingo was not a place any longer? His jaw fell slack, eyes like pearls in his head. In this, he felt like a tiny pebble in a grand sea - awashed by the reality of fate, and all it told. He wandered blindly a swath, almost clumsy as he marveled at it all. Across the stillness, he barked, listening to it echo briefly, before fading away. A mere blip. Did anyone else remain?

in response, a yap.

pausing a long moment as if unsure that there was ever anything up there.

but hope persisted; desperate yaps came from within the red ruin, distorted by the curve of hallways and the stillness of water.

help me help me help me

Andalib's ears immediately perked, head swiveling to the sound - faint and echoing as it was. He almost thought he had imagined it, sniffing the air like he would scent anything beyond wet, red clay. He was walking forward, uncaring of the squelch of wet ground beneath his paws, apprehension making his coat bristle.

The feeling of it sticking to his paws was worse than wet sand, far more cloying and refusing to budge until he was wading through stained water. Each noise was harder to track than the last, but he continued to delve, squeezing beneath precarious and overturned rubble; digging and scratching through clotted silt.

I'm here! Andalib called, flinching when his own voice echoed back to him. A taste of doubt crept into his mind, and he almost felt foolish - and yet he remained, aimlessly wandering deeper into the now-stagnant cavern; if someone was still here, he had to try.

muttered, somewhere off to the side: oh thank th' lawd.

here! yapped the tiny voice, guiding the rescuer to where the waters rose high enough to nearly touch the ceiling, and then further in, the cacophonous barks reverberating in the narrow space like a plucked banjo string.

there, the scent of wet death was strong, of bloated bodies only just beginning to rot - 

and on a tall shelf of redstone, finding recluse form the catastrophe, shivered a rotund, sopping shape of dark fur and batty ears hung low.

h-here, mah good man! here...