pumpKEN spice season

Maelstrom had waited eagerly for the sun to rise. There was something about how dark it was that intrigued him. The tremors were interesting, a tad nervous-making, but didn’t deter him from taking off at first light. Before he could even notice that the sky was turning shades of red, he was over the border and in loner territory.

Following the congregation of wolves that headed to the towering monoliths, Maelstrom picked up the pace. His legs ached by the time he got close, his tongue lolling from his mouth and his sides heaving while he panted. He wanted to rest, but the creepy looking things were so close!

It wouldn’t take him much longer and the closer he got, the more he could see. How the wind whistles through the holes, the spooky wailing that sounded like “stay away” to him. The dirt going from hard to soft. The etching along the spires.

Compelled to investigate, Maelstrom is stopped by the sound of liquid hitting the surface of one. “That’s not a good idea,” he warns the stranger - who unbeknownst to him is actually his uncle.