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Her eyes opened on the edge of a cliff. It's surface was rough and rocky, the angle dangerously sharp. Below her was a large, hollow stump, half splintered to bits by the rocks clattering into misshapen piles at the base. They dug into the pads of her paws. She thought she smelled blood.

Her heart was in her throat and there was a voice in the back of her head, fading and desperate.


Bragi blinked. It was hard to breathe.

What, she gasped, did you do.

There was no response.

She sucked in a single, shaky breath and tried to see past the heart hammering in her ears. A tree trunk, a landslide, a body.

A body.

There, partially buried under some rubble, was Apollo. He wasn't moving.

She might've screamed. It was hard to tell. All she knew was that she was suddenly at the base of the cliff, sporting several fresh cuts and bruises, trying desperately to clear the rocks and bark and debris from around his broken form.

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