Huskdog η

Distant hills smolder.

Ahead.

Behind.

Gert pushes onward.

Plodding. Plotting.

Hours pass.

Days pass.

Time, infinite.

Blades digging into the cliffs.

A slow ascent.

Soot, ash, rock.

Everything lies ahead.

Nothing falls behind.

With the apex in sight, distance is no more.

Huskdog ζ

Pushing onwards.
Miles to go.
One rustle, then another.
Fear.
Confusion.
Run, Gert, run.
Timid safety.
Hours pass.
A clearing approached.
Black, burnt, ash.
Nothing to shuck.
Nothing for miles.
Nothing remains.
Nothing.
Still, the pyres burn.
Pulling Gert.