He chuffs.
I appraise him more carefully now. Divine spirit or messenger—those are the only explanations that fit, unless he’s something else entirely. For a moment, I consider a shapeshifter, but if that were the case, why not change? Speak? Carry me properly instead of dragging me like carrion?
Turning, I plant my hands in the soil and push up onto my knees. Fatigue sweeps over me, and I pause halfway to my feet as I fight a wave of dizziness. Something isn’t right. My head feels as if it were battered and split apart, and thoughts are slow to form.
I draw in a steady breath and hold it until the spinning eases, then exhale slowly. When I force myself to stand, I sway on my feet and struggle to stay upright.
“Fuck, I feel like a colt learning the use of its legs.”
The wolf watches silently, then turns toward the west and takes a few steps, stops once again, and looks back at me.
“That way, I’m guessing.”
I don’t expect an answer, and I don’t get one. He simply walks forward, and the follow is implied.
So I do as much as I am able. Each step drags, heavier than the last. The endless reserve that once drove me forward is gone, replaced by extreme exhaustion. The urge to stop—to find shade, to drop and let the world go quiet—is almost too great for me to contest with.
But every time I fall too far behind, the wolf stops and waits.
So I keep moving. Push through onward. Force myself to take one step, then another. When my eyes drift shut, a low growl cuts through the haze—sharp enough to pull me back from slumber.
It feels like we’ve covered dozens of miles before my body gives out. My knees hit first. Then everything else follows as I pitch forward into the dirt and stay there, breath shallow, limbs refusing to answer my call.
This happens twice more.
Each time, I wake to an unbroken night and force myself to get up and continue for as long as my body will allow.
On the third rise of the moon, its color shifts—bleeding into a dull orange.
I make it far longer this time before weariness crawls over me and claims me.
The next time I wake, it isn’t due to the wolf’s insistence. It’s to Cali’s.
Her large nose brushes along my shoulder before her lips peel back, teeth nipping just enough to sting. Relief hits fast and sharp at the sight of her. My hand lifts, slower than I’d like, and settles against her nose, fingers pressing into familiar warmth, familiar fur, as she impatiently scrapes a hoof against the dirt.
With effort, I reach higher and catch hold of her bridle and reins. She steps back as I pull, giving me just enough leverage to haul myself upright. It’s work—far more than it should be—but I manage to drag myself into the saddle. I hunch forward, gripping tight as she moves, falling in behind the wolf, and our pace picks up.
We cross miles of scorched earth, the land torn open where stars have fallen and now lie dormant, embedded like massive meteors. We enter a shaded valley between mountains that didn’t escape a falling star's trajectory. The wolf leads and navigates us through the rubble and around boulders in our path. Wind tunnels through the canyon, carrying a bitter chill. The cold cuts through me in a way it never has before, deeper than it should, settling into bone. I wrap my cloak around me as best I can, and rub my hands together to create friction, and stave off the numbness that tries to set in.
Each night, the moon rises again—darker, heavier, its color deepening into something unnatural.
The Blood Moon finally appears, and it’s just as I feared. The third sign has come much too soon, telling me that Judgment has begun without me.
Anger and frustration mount as we press on.
This is bloody well not how it was meant to unfold. Hell's gates and demons were never part of the equation.
I am in no condition to serve as I was meant to. But can not the same also be said for the others? Kahill is gone. Orán… unaccounted for. Tíarnach…who knows.
How are we to?—
Wait…
My thoughts stall, then shift. I reach inward, searching past the exhaustion, past the haze—and there it is…a faint, distant-but-there tether.
The pull aligns with the path we’re already taking. Whether by God’s design or blind coincidence, I don’t know—but it…
Does this mean I’m not alone?
