„Shit!" I clenched my chest, pressing some hide to the bleeding wound, trying to stop it. The burning sensation made my whole body weak.
I turned to Onyx—he breathed heavy. His right ear was cut, blood trickling down in thin lines.
I circled him with slow, heavy steps. „You okay?" Even though I already knew the answer.
Onyx shook his head.
Nodding, I looked around. The rain still poured, draining us and everything we owned. The backpack and sleeping bag were covered in mud, and I could see footprints on them.
„Shitty dogs!" I cursed and started gathering everything, but my strength wasn't enough. I had to drag the heavy bag through the wet earth.
Pulling myself together, I asked, „Can you carry some things for me…? I think we need to get away from here."
I still felt the kojoten's warm breath in my neck, even though they were gone.
Onyx stamped the ground, ears twitching, his black coat slick with rain. His breath came out hot in the cold night, mist rising from his nostrils.
„Good boy… good boy, just a little more, yeah?" I mumbled, pushing the wet hide harder against my chest. The blood soaked through anyway, warm mixing with cold rain until I couldn't tell which was which.
I dragged the backpack a few more steps, the mud sucking at my legs like it wanted me to stay forever.
„Hrrgh… come on…!" I groaned. „If those space mutts come back, we're screwed."
Onyx bent his neck down, nudging my shoulder with his muzzle. His deep black eyes met mine—tired, but sharp.
„You'll really help? …Okay, thanks, partner."
My fingers shook as I tied the bag back onto him, using what was left of my belt and some straps that were too soaked to hold. The knots slipped, the leather stretched—but it stayed. Barely.
I used my last bit of strength to find the violet stone my mother had gifted me. When I found it, I packed it into the food bag, swung it around my belt, and threw the remaining hides over my shoulder.
„Alright… alright…" I panted, clutching my chest. „Let's get out of this death-bed swamp."
The prints in the mud glowed faintly in the corners of my vision—where the kojoten had stepped, the earth bent weirdly, like puddles of warped water still swallowing themselves. My stomach twisted.
„Don't… don't look at it," I told myself out loud, shaking my head. „Nope. No curiosity. Curiosity kills. Curiosity makes me dog food today."
Onyx snorted like he agreed, then started walking. I stumbled beside him, one hand on his back to keep upright, the other pressing the hide tighter to my chest wound. The hides hung over my head, shielding me a little from the rain.
Each step hurt. The rain poured harder, washing away the blood but also my strength. I coughed, spitting the iron taste from my mouth.
„Just… a little farther," I whispered to the horse, though really it was to myself. „Find a rock. A cave. A hole. Anything that's not this muddy graveyard."
The night stretched endlessly. Every shadow looked like yellow eyes waiting to blink back at me. My ears rang with phantom howls; my neck prickled with breath that wasn't there.
But step by step, dragging my pain and the heavy bag through the mud, I kept going.
Because stopping wasn't an option. Not here. Even though my vision blurred.
…
„Haaaa!"
„Argh!"
„Pfui!"
With a painful moan, I heaved my stiff head up. I was lying face down on cold stone. It was dark.
The only sounds were dripping water, a soft breeze, and slow, calm breathing.
With some awkward effort, I rolled onto my back and stared at a rough stone ceiling.
„Ugh…" My fingers brushed my chest, and the sharp pain reminded me—yep—the scar was still there, deep and ugly. The hide stuck to it like glue, stiff with dried blood.
Blinking, I turned my head.
There—Onyx. Curled on his side, chest rising and falling. The soft breath I'd heard. His flank glistened in the dim light. A scratch ran across his ribs, but it wasn't bad. His cut ear twitched.
„Good… good boy, you made it too," I whispered, my voice hoarse.
But then—where the hell were we?
I lifted my head higher, groaning as my neck protested. The ground wasn't mud anymore—it was solid stone, smooth in some places, jagged in others. The air was cool and stale, smelling faintly of iron and wet fur. Somewhere, water dripped, steady as a heartbeat.
And the dark wasn't complete. I squinted. On the walls, faint veins of something glowed—a soft bluish-white, like frozen lightning trapped inside rock.
„Ohhh… wow." My cracked lips twisted into a weak smile. „Magic cave. That's… that's new."
The memories came back in fragments: dragging the bag, stumbling, rain swallowing me, vision going black. Then… nothing. Did I fall? Did the ground eat me up?
„Space mutts… maybe they left their stink here too," I muttered, dragging myself upright.
The backpack was there—soaked, filthy, but not gone. My sleeping bag too. Everything stank, but it was still with me. That was more than I expected.
Still clutching my chest, I leaned against the wall. The stone was cold and rough, but it kept me steady.
„Okay," I whispered, „let's recap. You didn't die. You didn't get eaten. You got a free cave upgrade. Downside… chest looks like someone tried carving their name on it with claws."
Onyx snorted in his sleep, legs twitching like he was chasing something.
„Yeah, yeah… you did more damage than me," I told him with a weak grin.
I froze, my breath catching. Then I fell asleep.
…
I ran my fingers over the leather tunic, right where the scar on my chest lay. Onyx had grown so much—his shoulders now stood higher than my head.
Over the last two years, I'd had to make myself new clothes more times than I could count, each one stitched from what the wilds would give.
The backpack had grown too—expanded, patched, and burdened with our shared years.
Now we stood on a yellow hill, the wind of an approaching winter brushing against my roughened face.
My hand rested gently on Onyx's back as we looked over the endless prairie. Below, a massive herd of bison—unlike anything we had ever seen—grazed across the golden sea of grass.
The ground trembled beneath my boots, each of their heavy steps sending a rumble through the hill. Their backs looked like moving mountains, thick fur swaying in the wind, steam rising from their nostrils in pale clouds.
„Holy… wow," I whispered, my fingers pressing against the old scar beneath the leather. „Onyx… they're like walking hills!"
He snorted, tossing his grown mane, proud as if he belonged among them. His black coat shimmered with strength, muscles rippling under it.
No longer the half-healed foal I had once dragged through mud and blood. Only the cut in his right ear remained—a small mark of the storm we'd survived.
I patted his side. „You think we could… hunt one?" My stomach growled, then my eyes widened. „Or—uh—get hunted by one. They look like they'd flatten me into a puddle…"
The herd moved slowly, unconcerned, horns like crooked tree roots against the pale winter sky.
The last two years hadn't been kind—but they had made us tougher.
The scraps of old hides and bones I'd once used had turned into real clothes. The backpack had become a patchwork monster, heavy and full of our makeshift tools and memories. And Onyx… he had carried half my life on his back without a single complaint.
I breathed in the cold air. It bit deep—but it was clean. The world felt larger than ever.
„Two years, buddy," I said, squeezing his neck gently. „We didn't die. Guess that counts for something."
Onyx neighed softly, his ears flicking forward. But his gaze wasn't on the bison anymore—it was fixed far beyond them, toward a faint black line at the horizon.
I followed his eyes and squinted. Mountains. Distant, sharp, cutting into the sky.
The same mountains I'd once pointed at with a laugh and a promise.
Closer now.
„Heh." I smiled, dry lips cracking in the wind. „Still chasing you, huh?"
The prairie wind swept past us, carrying the scent of snow and the whisper of what was coming.
Then—just at the edge of my sight—movement.
At first, only a flicker. Then clear: a silhouette sneaking toward one of the bison.