merikh fluttered an audit at gelinda's response and obliged. there was not a matter to oppose, he believed her and spun on his mitts to flee from the unsettling scene.

and as much as merikh did not desire to scram, he regarded her request. and withdrew as far as he could. but the sentiment he could not shudder, the foreigners' slaughterous irises sundering into his soul, straight through. he had never felt so scuddy and frail, so powerless and so futile in a moment like that.

but eventually, in a woodland all alone, set astray and disorientated, merikh tried to get his bearings and his breath. his clangorous and erratic breaths tingling in his own audits. he bolted so far, with a drubbing heart, to forfeit all sense of the location and situation. he looked around, the woodland stout and opaque, the gnarly groves looming over him like goliaths. he could decipher the sound of a rivulet in the distance, and the occasional hoot of a great horned owl crooning in the grove viscosity.

merikh inhaled a deep breath, in an endeavor to ease his hastening heart. he knew that he had to resume his flee, had to find a footpath out of the woodland, but every footstep he had taken, felt like a footstep closer to nowhere. and knowing that gelinda was somewhere in the woodland, alone too, presumably in the grasp of another brute, bristled his backbone fur.

but what churned his thoughts was the bristling of scrubs and whirls of draft whistling through the loftiness of the forestland. he was so exposed to the clemency of danger. and without knowing that gelinda was alive, made him agitated.