forever hunted - open; death

[METEOR]

Blood. He followed the stench, weaving between the trees, chasing the scent. Sorbet, he thought, recognizing the individual beneath all the red, and he grit his teeth to squeeze another iota of speed out of his legs. He bulldozed through the undergrowth and snapped branches beneath his paws, and all the birds in the forest screamed in alarm as he raced towards his friend.

He skidded to a halt, breathing so fast he couldn’t think, bumping his shoulder against a tree and zapping his ears against a branch. Chest heaving, he stared at the waves, then at Medusa as she shrieked her grief to the heavens. But he wouldn’t believe… no, Sorbet….

Quasar charged, smearing the green bloodtrail, into the waves. His lips pulled back into a snarl and electricity crackled in every direction, but the ocean didn’t care about a little shit like him. The next wave crashed against him, bashing against his head and salting his tongue. He growled, close-lipped now, and waded through the surf as it pulled him in and pushed his paws back.

“SORBET!” He scanned the water, looking everywhere and anywhere for a sign of his friend. But the rough surface revealed nothing. The navy waters and white foam surrounded him, and not a dark blip or tuft of fur marred the sea.

Eyes burning, Quasar couldn’t tell if it was the strong breeze or the ocean’s salt (or his own tears). Deeper now, his paws barely touched the bottom, and he threw back his head again. “SORBET!”

The centurion inhaled deeply, filling his chest to the brim with his deepest breath of the new year, before he dived. The grainy water offered no visibility, hazy with kicked up sand and seaweed tangles, and even his neon green paws were barely visible.

He surfaced, the sand slipping under his paws. “SORBET!”