Atuat

Atuat’s chest was ready to burst from exhaustion. His lungs were screaming in pain. His heart felt like an avalanche inside his ribs. He had been running full pelt since the dogs had bolted in fear, taking his sled with them.

It all happened so quickly. He had been getting his gear ready for the return trip to his village. The hunt had been a great success. The elders would welcome him back with great cheer.

And then without any warning the sled dogs had begun to bark wildly, and before Atuat could even begin to try and pacify them, they had bolted. This was such an unexpected act by his experienced and loyal dogs that it took him a while to gather his wits about him. It was when he had finally managed to pull his thoughts out from the fog of his confusion, that he suddenly noticed the gale that had kicked up where before there was nothing but deep blue sky. The dogs bolting, and the ferocious gale had all happened in an instant.

Moments before he himself had bolted in fear, Atuat could hear the frenzied barks of the dogs fading into the distance, barks which were then followed by yelps … and then nothing. Nothing but the wind … and a low murmur. The murmur was a sound not made by any storm he was familiar with. That low murmur which now cut through the howling winds must have been what had set his instincts into over drive, and those instincts had then taken over and made him start running. And since then he had been running. Running till this very moment. When he ran no more. When he stopped. When he stood still.

He stopped because he realized the murmur was now a growl which made the fury of the storm fade into the background. He stopped because he knew that his death was upon him. In the following seconds Atuat had no more thoughts. He no longer felt panic. He no longer felt anything at all, because the Amarok had already begun to devour his still twitching carcass.