Muddled thoughts jived with the erratic rhythm of his breathing. Having emerged from the desert one hour before, parched and panting, he now tracked a swath of grazing-sheared grasses, praying Shep Eerdmair - and water - awaited him at trail's end.
Those stalking him were religiously following homicidal orders. While he'd managed to evade them thus far, they'd succeeded in stealing the one thing that mattered: flight. A fact which now resonated deeply through rebellious muscles, though desperation continued to spur him onward over uneven terrain. Yesterday, he'd have jetted the distance, buoyantly slicing air at delirious speeds. Sigh. Yesterday.
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