Something howls through a dense, dark fog.
My body lurches toward the sound, and I am mindful of the tickling reverberation in the bones around my collar.
Would most in my shoes plan their escape?
Find cover?
Grasp to find a branch or iron, something to fend off an unseen attacker?
Perhaps.
But I lean in.
And despite a wave of neaseau echoing through my viscera, I mouth a wordless prayer that the beast find me.
Put his face against my soft flesh
and press hard with a snout, or maw, until I feel that canine dripping in excitatory salivation.
My own saliva to meet his
as I smile in relief, and am torn open for once and last.