The loose rocks cascaded under Latiana’s heels as she fell down the cliffside, but she continued to throw herself downhill. After all, the hounds chasing her seemed to have no trouble navigating these steep bluffs – their paws barely touched the ground at all. She could hear no pounding rhythm behind her, just the constant howls that tore through the fog. Howls and screams.

This wasn’t even her area of expertise, she thought. She should have been up north, studying Thule spearheads. But her friend Jeanne was short-handed for a dig, and she had asked nicely…

Jeanne wasn’t able to ask for any help right now, though. She was busy trying to stay alive, as a pair of the dogs dragged her over the granite rubble. “Jeanne!”, she called, with a tortured gasp of air. Latiana could barely see anything: just a flash of movement, barely within vision’s range. The dogs were doing a poor job of baiting her, she thought, or else an excellent job of exhausting her. Either way, she was in a tight spot.