Title-- Run
Rating and Warnings-- PG for blood and pain. O_o;;
Species and Characters-- Just a single wolf.
Summary and Notes-- Written as part of daily15 to this prompt--took me 15.5 minutes for 557 words. (Wow, that's unusually slow for me. =o_o=)


Run. Run forever--never stop. Just run, blood streaming down long, strong legs. Heart pounding, lungs quivering with effort, flanks heaving. Chunks of fur left bobbing on thorns and barbs as they tear at hips and shoulders and proud plumed tail. Keep running, wolf. You cannot stop now.

The heat was stifling, sun filtering through a canopy of thick green flashing light-dark-light-dark-light-dark into wolfish eyes. Everything smelled too strong--pungent flowers painting the too-still air in garish hues, the scent of green overwhelming and inescapable. Nothing was wet enough to lack the terrible force of scent--water dampened nothing in this place. Dry and brilliant and horribly green.

The wolf didn't belong in this wildly colorful jungle. Its blood shouldn't be spattering upon the dark, dry soil with each heavy, tired, leaping stride. It shouldn't have to breathe the thick, dank, too-rich air that clogged its nose with intense scents and its lungs with humidity. Its greyed fur should not be left in tufts attached to various plants along its backtrail, sharp thorns glinting and seemingly laughing as the lupe ran on.

But it ran, because running would keep it alive. Running, bloodied paws slamming into the earth, entire ribcage expanding and contracting to force the air into and out of its tired lungs. The wolf was weary, and its wounds--though not deep or particularly crippling--pained it. It was losing blood to the thirsty soil and dead leaves that littered all the ground. It was losing energy, and when all its energy and blood had been lost, it would stop, and it would die.

Run--!

The wolf didn't care that it could die. Death was a certainty at some point in its life, and it left the when up to fate. It would live until it died, and until it did die, it would run.

Running might save it. Running might keep it alive for that much longer.

Wolfish endurance had long since trickled out of the lupe's strong body, along with the first waves of crimson blood--now, sheer willpower fueled its headlong gallop through the thick, dry jungle. But sheer willpower could only do so much, and despite the scream of its instincts to run and run forever, the wolf was slowing. It was tired...

The scent of the foliage had drowned out all other scents, and the wolf's eyes were half-glazed and fixed doggedly on whatever path it could find through the gargantuan trees and myriad smaller plantforms. Vines were dodged, logs were leapt, trees were dodged, streams were leapt, thickets were dodged... The wolf ran. It would run until it had pummeled its paws into bloody stubs or until all of its blood had fled its body. There was no stopping.

Foam dribbled from the lupe's gaping jaws, pink tongue lolling limply--its ears were low but not flattened, and its tail was no longer held so proudly or so high. It was beginning to truly slow, and it tripped thrice over a row of tree roots. It staggered, then regained its gait, now slower than ever.

Run--!
...rest...
Run!
...rest...
Run!
Rest!

The grey-furred wolf staggered again, its shoulder glancing off a tree trunk. It fell hard to the soil, unable to rise again--able to only breathe in great gasps that shook its whole body.

Run?
Rest...


This piece disturbs me. =O__o=