He brought his hand up to his face and felt stickiness
there.
"Assha--" He believed he called that aloud, but he did not even hear his
own voice. They were in a valley; a wolf had attacked him out of the
bushes. Wolf? No, the wolf was dead, but then it came alive again to
howl on a river bank.
Ross forced his eyes open once more, enduring the pain of beams he
recognized as sunshine. He turned his head to avoid the glare. It was
hard to focus, but he fought to steady himself. There was some reason
why it was necessary to move, to get away. But away from what and where?
When Ross tried to think he could only see muddled pictures which had no
connection.
Then a moving object crossed his very narrow field of vision, passing
between him and a thing he knew was a tree trunk. A four-footed creature
with a red tongue hanging from its jaws. It came toward him
stiff-legged, growling low in its throat, and sniffed at his body before
barking in short excited bursts of sound.
The noise hurt his head so much that Ross closed his eyes.
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