Without a paddle

Their fleeting world morphed into a blur of flailing legs and snapping jaws- a whirlwind of action and intent, as the coyotes ruthlessly tore into their skin. Pained yelps filled the space around Abyss, the instinct to fight and survive surging through their veins.

But their sickly body continued to betray them.

Their breathing was becoming shallow and increasingly labored- each breath feeling like it might be their last. And the pressure welling beneath their skin- the writhing of creatures flourishing in their belly- was maddening. Why did it feel so intense at this moment? Was Abyss about to face the final moments before their death?

And suddenly, there is a chilling moment of clarity. Both coyotes are ripped away from them, but their primary attacker manages to tear a jagged laceration across their scruff before it's tossed away.

It all happens so fast it feels like a blur- Abyss' vision is swimming, and they can feel themselves drifting. But above them, is the larger, protective figure of their wolf ally. He must have fought the coyotes off. But that didn’t mean they were out of danger.

Jump on my back and hang on.

Abyss’ ears twitched on top of their head, swiveling in Iskandor’s direction to signify their compliance. Stand up. Gasping for breath, Abyss presses their paws into the soil, their legs shaking uncontrollably as they push themselves upright.

Stand up. If they could get their belly off the ground, maybe the boy could scoop them up onto his back. Stand up. But gravity was working against them- intent on pulling them back to the ground- to remind them how weak they’d become since falling ill.

"Speech"