Across The Desolate Plains

As the rays of the sun continued to pierce the ground, Lynn stood in a shadow cast by a massive boulder, recovering his strength. He had been running for several hours to evade the dangers of the plain, but the heat of the sun wasn't helping. He knew the blazing afternoon wasn't the best time of the day for a long distance journey on foot, but he couldn't linger around his demolished village. The threat of the antherions still loomed heavily on his mind.

After deciding on his need for a small break, he sat on a small stone beside the boulder and opened his satchel. He brought out a piece of roasted rabbit leg, and a urn of deepwater he received from Wynter, his dead uncle.

From his vantage point, he could see the outskirts of the Ivory hills, his destination. But considering the dangers of the roads, he knew the journey would take him several weeks to complete. So for now, he had to be extremely careful and conserve his energy as much as he could. If he was to survive.

His eyes were drawn back to the plains before him. A quick inspection yielded no sign of any danger, but deep down, he couldn't shake the feelings of deadly eyes watching him. A few minutes of watching, still nothing.

He was about to dismiss his unease as an effect of the heat, when he heard a deep low growl. There was no mistaken the depth of the power of the canine, larger and far more powerful than the tiger he fought the other day. It had to be an antherion. He could almost picture its imaginary face as having cold, deadly green eyes and long, sharp teeth. Where there was one wolf, there would be many in the area.

A terrible feeling rose up in his mind, but before his mind could seize up, his legs took over and he ran. He raced over the plain, at first not caring which direction, caring only to put distance between himself and whatever was making the growls.

He headed down the gully until he saw a suitable place to climb out of the lower section of the hill. This was no safe place, but he needed a higher spot, above the ground level, to see whatever was after him. Bounding up the incline, he sent rocks and dust sliding down behind him. His hands found dry grass that he used to pull himself up while his feet found supporting holds. Before long, he was off.

With his fear ebbing a little, enough to allow his mind to notice he was heading south—the direction of the dark forest—a small cry of frustration shook him and he turned left towards the Ivory Hills. His back itched. He feared that at any moment the beast would appear and tear him apart.

He tripped over another mound of grass, scrambled to his feet, and was off again. Besides the pounding of his feet and his own breathing, he heard nothing else. No sounds of growling or howling pursuit, making him heave a temporary sigh of relief.

As the sun continued to blaze harder, he dared a look back, not stopping his flight, but looking over his shoulder as he ran. That was when he saw a shadow, scuttling out of the gully. It stopped and stood tall at the rim of the ravine, neither moving nor coming after him. It was just watching him.

"That's a Worg. Well, in case you're not aware, a Worg is not just any wolf but an antherion which had reached the half-transformation level. That's way higher than your level. And wherever one appears, other lower-level wolves followed. So, you better run for your life." The voice of The Remnant sounded in his mind.

Gripped in fear, Lynn ran towards the other direction, the eastern sky brightly lit behind him. The breeze, whispering through the grasses all day, suddenly grew to a full wind, pushing at him from the right. It sent stinging dirt and sand into his eyes but he didn't slow down or stop. He wiped at the muddy tears and continued running. Better to run blind than stop. Despite the burning difficulty, he closed his mouth and breathed through his nose to keep the dirt from his mouth.

The land began to rise a bit, and his legs started to burn. He'd only taken a bite out of the baked roasted meat since morning—and barely nothing then. His heart seemed to be beating all the way into the top of his skull, and he could not bring enough air into his body. His face twisted into a rictus of pain, but he forced himself onward.

He reached the top of the hill and began his descent on the other side. The pain in his legs eased a little as he went down the slope, but soon he was going too fast. He almost fell when his foot hit a hillock of grassy plant hard, but righted himself and kept going.

He had not gone more than a few yards when his foot hit the mouth of a hole—probably some sort of animal made—and he went down. The dry grass cushioned the worst of his fall, but the impact, drove what little air he had, from his lungs.

A sudden gust of wind hit him, almost as if the wind itself were laughing at him. He pushed himself to his feet, and noticed the trembling in his legs in panic. Knowing he couldn't keep this pace up much longer, he looked up, searching for a resting place but all he saw was an empty plain in every direction.

There might well be other dry gullies, running like cracks throughout the plain, but dwellers would never see them until they were on top of them.

He forced himself onward but reduced his pace a bit. This allowed him to see the hole at the nick of time. He'd been lucky. Another foot into a hole and he might have broken his ankle. As a boy, he'd seen it happen to low-functioning horses, and if a healer wasn't around, there was nothing to be done but a quick jab to the thick vein along the horse's throat, and it was over.

Lynn took a quick glance over his shoulder, and saw pale things flitting over the plain to the north. They almost blended in to the plains despite the sunlight. Only their movement gave them away—and they were heading for him. He turned and headed south, following the shallow valley between the two hills, away from the wolves. But he'd seen how fast they were moving. Unless he found somewhere to hide, they'd be on him in no time.

He had only gone a quarter of a mile when he saw a phantom shape passed him to his right by a dozens of paces. Two more ghostly shapes off to his left.

They were surrounding him in the circle of death. He glanced behind him and saw four others a hundred paces behind him. They were not close enough for Lynn to make out their distinct features, but he could tell that they were large canines, larger than any wolves he had seen.