~ HARTH ~
Harth stood on a pointed, shale rise, eyes wide, waiting to see if the figure would move.
Nothing.
Her throat closed convulsively. The wind had changed and ran at her back so she couldn't scent the male one hundred feet away, sprawled in the dry dust and stones of this strange place.
She'd been running when the forest suddenly gave way, and all its lush, damp beauty stopped as if fire had drawn a line on it.
The land here was dry, barren, and overwhelmed by this huge amphitheater of rock and dirt. She'd climbed the strange wave of land that shoved, pointed, towards the sky, to discover that it was a massive oval ringed on three sides and broken only in one spot—as if the Creator Himself had stomped a foot into the land and it rose, displaced, piercing the air.
And dead. The air itself was bone-dry
Nothing lived in this circle.
Not even the male?
Go. Go. Go.
