The sight of a dog chasing down a grown man and two grown women was what Varian encountered when he reached the edge of the tree's roots.
Putting it that way seemed a little weird. Sure, the dog had three heads. The man and women were exhausted from a life threatening battle, but still.
"Need some help?"
He didn't have to ask, the three ran towards him with desperate and almost…fanatical eyes?
"Woah, woah, I'm not running a cult. Change that expression!" Varian backed off and starting running back.
The royal heirs wanted to yell and call him to stop. But their throats were drier than a desert and speaking in their current condition might cause them to cough out blood than sound.
The reason they were even able to run was their body's instincts taking over control. As painful as their bodies felt, their instincts were clear that stopping meant certain death.
An unusual picture formed at the roots of the great tree.
