the host

the gods were very angry. they fought, clashed, rumbled in the world above. rain nearly poured down, tapping harshly upon his uncovered pelt. he'd hidden maeva somewhere safe, afraid she'd been carried away from the torrential winds. and he had been right. the winds were absolutely horrid. he was absolutely irritated. annoyed. frustrated. why must the gods involve them in their disputes? couldn't they sort it out without raining the heavens down upon them? but then again, he supposed some of these poor bastards needed a reminder.

and then he heard it. that familiar cry. he'd only heard it once before, but it had been plaguing his mind like a constant disease. he wanted to replace it with her laughter, but still it would haunt him. he did not wish to hear it again, and for a moment he wasn't sure he had really heard it.. until he heard the vicious rushing of the rio grande. his heart raced, beating like a thousand horses' hooves in a spartan war. she was in trouble. in a split second he was running, sprinting, nearly flying in her direction.

and there she was, bobbing, gasping, drowning. he did not know how he managed it, he did not remember most of it. but now here he was, fighting against the current and grasping with desperate but delicate jaws toward her scruff.