Lost

Lost

"I think we're lost, buddy," Lyryk said, looking down at the dog by her side. Biscuit's honey-colored eyes gazed up at her, his tongue lolling.

She still didn't know what to think about this animal. Maybe it was just her imagination when she felt the creature had spoken to her that first day. He hadn't done it again if it had been him. Whatever it was, it saved her life, and for that, she was forever grateful.

The bard questioned the wisdom of following the farmer's directions at the foot of the mountain three days before. Of course, she didn't know about the storm rolling in, either. If she had, she would have stayed put two nights prior. Lyryk had found a small cave, and Biscuit made sure it wasn't otherwise occupied. They had been warm and cozy, unlike the past couple of days.

On the second day, clouds covered the sun, chilling the air further. The pair spent the second fitful night wrapped in Lyryk's blanket, huddled in a tree well. The next day, the half-elf dragged herself from the meager shelter using sheer willpower.

"We need to find shelter or we'll die," she said to Biscuit. The cold sapped her energy, her legs alternated between numb and jelly. She couldn't feel her feet.

The last thing she remembered was the voice in her head, this way, Howl.

The sun broke through the clouds late on the third day. Lyryk woke in a sheltered alcove, a fire blazing at the entrance, Biscuit curled against her back. She had no recollection of how they got there.