//------------------------------//
// Ch.9 The Chase part 1 
// Story: The Epic of a Diamond Dog 
// by Ravencrofte 
//------------------------------//

        	I woke up.
Dark tendrils, stark against the horizon, trashed in the wild antics of the wind. Beyond them was a realm of sodden darkness which wailed and roared and shuddered like a living thing. It tore the night apart, raging all around. I was a lonely pebble, braced against the madness surrounding me.
I raised my head and peered up at the sky.
There was no way to tell the passing of time. The sky concealed the moon and the stars in a black veil from one end of the horizon to the next. A half night could have come and gone, each moment reluctant to progress to the next. Only the collective water droplets, falling individually from the end of my nose, gave any reassurance that the world still slogged painfully onward.
I sucked my limbs in tighter, trying anything to find that elusive warmth.
The storm frothed and writhed, its fury far from spent. A bolt of lightning flashed, splitting the sky and granting brief snatches of the battlefield above. One, two, three, I counted before the thunder replied. Volleys of rain pierced my fur, running freely down my backside. Each new blast of wind bringing shocks and shivers that coursed through my body. My teeth chattered freely.
I laid my head back down upon my paws.
Memories crept through my mind. There were many good ones: of my father, of Spoke and Rob, of faces coming and going, of days spend in the sun with sword and spear. Even if my body succumbed to the wet and cold, at least I would be warm.
I plucked the best memory and replayed it before my eyes.
My first hunt: I was a puppy of ten years, with only a small spear. My father was crouching beside me, giving me tips and instructions. He gave me a pat on the back, just before I was released with the others to drive the wild game from the trees and into the waiting jaws of the clan.
We had feasted that night. Gathering  around the grand fire, the elders told the tales of the Great Dogs: Balto the Brave, Tallen the Trickster, and Whisper the Wise. When the elders had exhausted the old tales drums and flutes played. We sang the songs of the clan, carrying on until the first light of morning.
I tried not to shed any tears, but they poured forth unabated. They were lost in the tiny rivers that cascaded down my face. The sounds of my sorrows were drowned out by nature’s wrath.
I woke again just after dawn. I didn’t remember falling asleep, but the kiss of the sun on my eyes forced me to shield them with my paw. I stood up, much to the protest of my cramped limbs, and vigorously shook myself. I gazed up to the sky and found it smiling down on me. The storm had moved off to the northwest, still lashing the ground with its anger, leaving behind a serine silence.
I nuzzled Kitty Hawk until she opened her eyes.
“Good morning,” I said, putting on my best smile. She smiled too, passing me the damp blanket which I added it to our water-logged supplies. She shivered in the early morning chill.
Kitty Hawk rose from the shallow trench, stretched and yawned. She had developed large spots on her white coat where the dried mud had caked into her mane and tail. It was a good thing there were no puddles large enough to see my reflection; I probably looked worse.
“Did you sleep well?” I asked as I emptied out the saddle pack and inspected our meager possessions.
“I was all nice and warm, and didn’t even wake up once,” she said with a big smile. “How about you?”
“I slept really well too,” I lied.
Our small bag of jewels back into the saddle pack, followed by our two water skins; one half full and the other empty. The wax paper around the tinder box and fire-starter was still intact. They too went back into the saddle pack.
“Did we lose those Dogs?” asked Kitty Hawk as she tried to peer over the grass around us.
“I think so,” I replied, only half listening.
My sling was made of hemp cord and would dry out, given enough time. I tied it around my neck. There were several yards of loose cord, which I bound together and threw into the sack. I opened a small pouch containing thin line and several hooks. At least if we camped by the river tonight I might be able to catch a fish or two. I placed the fishing gear carefully inside the saddle pack.
All that was left was the blanket and the food.
The blanket would dry; whether from body heat or the steady breath of the wind, it would be ready for use by nightfall. The musk of mold and mildew would forever cling to the fabric, a potent reminder of this miserable night. All the same, we would use it day and night until the end of this journey.
These same could not be said for the food.
It was completely soaked, and in the case of the grains, turned to mush. We had a day at most before tiny hairs sprung forth. It would be inedible, and maybe even make us violently ill if we did. We would be forced to scavenge for food, hunt for goats and rabbits, as well as plants for Kitty Hawk. Hunting and gathering would considerably shorten the total distance covered in a day. I could go a day or two without eating, but not Kitty Hawk. To listen to her belly growl as she moaned for food… no, she would eat, even if I had to starve.
There was always Dogs-head. At least then we would both have something to fill our bellies. The thought of eating the plant made me cringe, coupled with the memories of the bitter-tasting plant fibers. The leaves had to be cooked by fire just to render them palatable. A fire would take time, and probably give away our camp location. The major plus side was that Dogs-head was readably abundant, just not here in the grasslands.
“What’s for breakfast?” asked Kitty Hawk.
With a grimace I handed her the feed bag. Kitty Hawk looked with dismay at her breakfast, then up at me with pleading eyes.
I gave her a weak smile. “Eat as much as you can. This may be the last good meal for a while.”
We ate in silence.
I tried not to choke on the sausages. They were so saturated it was like chewing on over-cooked meat, sinew and flesh fighting every attempt of tooth and claw. Kitty Hawk was too busy to notice my blight as she tried to slurp her food without it pouring down her front.
We left shortly thereafter. I slogged through the wet grass, blazing a trail for Kitty Hawk to follow. She did so, holding back tentatively as each new clump of grass bathed me with their collective droplets. She only followed once she was certain that all the water had fallen on me.
“Where are we going?” Kitty Hawk pranced behind me, leaping gleefully from one paw print to the next.
“To the River,” I said. I pushed aside a large clump of grass, but my paw slipped, and the wet leaves swung back and smacked me in the face. Irritably, I trampled the leaves until they laid flat.
“Why?” she asked.
I looked over my shoulder and found her staring skywards. She was watching a bird fly as it soared high above. Her uninjured wing was twitching.
“Because we are low on water, and there’s more food.”
“Are we going to find more food?”
“Do you want to eat mush for breakfast, lunch, dinner?”
“No thank you, yuck.”
The grasses were noticeably shorter; I could almost peek over their tops. The soil was now a reddish-brown clay. Water had collected in large, shallow pools. I waded through while Kitty Hawk hopped from grass clump to grass clump, giggling as she did so.
“Are we there yet?” she asked, just before she tripped and went sprawling into a puddle. I bit my lower lip to hide my laughter. She shook herself off and continued from where she had fallen.
“No,” I answered.
“Are we there yet?”
“No.”
“Are we there yet?”
I pulled back a clump of grass, and the sight made me grin. I turned back to Kitty Hawk. “How about you come take a look?”
She did so, peering upon the great expanse of open land. The familiar sight of Dogs-head greeted us. The green ribbon could be seen adorning the horizon, separated from us by no more than the distance of a short run.
“The river,” she cried and bounded forth. I echoed her cry with a howl and trotted to keep pace with the excited pony. She sported a grin so wide it must have hurt.
“Ember,” she asked as she bounded along beside me, “can we have a fire tonight?”
“You bet,” I said.
“You’re the best, Ember.”
Something about her words made me swell with joy. I beamed at her. She grinned at me.
Her grin was infectious, and soon it crested my lips as well. Tonight there would be a fire and hot food, maybe even a bath if we had time, fresh river trout if I got lucky, soft grass to sleep on, and no rain clouds in sight. Just for this night we could lie around and relax, tell silly stories, and not worry about tomorrow.
A long and piercing howl echoed from the south.