Teclos ran.
Branches clawed at his face and arms as he tore through the undergrowth, boots barely finding proper footing before he launched himself forward again. Darkness lashed out instinctively—tendrils snapping around the trees.
He slingshotted himself ahead.
The world blurred.
An ice needle screamed past his ear and exploded against a tree in front of him, showering splinters and frost in every direction.
His breathing was already chaotic.
Fast and ragged pulls of air. Panic was slowly setting in. He was beginning to tire.
"What kind of damn training is this?!" he gasped between strides. "Try not to die?!"
Another tendril wrapped around a thick trunk to his right—he pivoted mid-run, swung wide, and hurled himself down a slope. Snow and dirt sprayed behind him.
The frost lynx followed effortlessly.
Although it was injured now, it still didn't lose a lot of speed, if any at all.
