We ran again.

Branches clawed at my arms. Rocks tore at my feet. The cold bit down like teeth, but we didn’t stop. Behind us, Acwulf's roar still echoed—half rage, half pain. He was down but not dead. 

“Left...go left!” Mira wheezed beside me, gripping her ribs.

I followed, trusting her instincts. We cut through a patch of undergrowth and spilled into a dried creek bed. The mud sucked at our feet, every step a fight.

My side throbbed where Acwulf punched me. ...