The Mating Run by Leeka

Run

Darkness surrounds me.

I hear echoes, fragments of sound, and the world flickers in and out like a dying flame. Zeke’s voice, a distant murmur, reaches me like ripples in a quiet pond. I try to focus, to make sense of the fragments, but everything slips away like sand through my fingers.

I feel the rhythmic beat of Zeke’s steps, a steady cadence that carries me through the darkness. His arms around me, a secure cocoon in the disorienting haze. I’m aware, on the edges of consciousness, that we’re moving, running somewhere. Zeke’s growls, low and protective, punctuate the darkness like distant thunder.

In and out.

That’s how I drift.

Sometimes the darkness swallows me whole, and other times I catch fleeting glimpses of the world outside. Zeke’s growls become a familiar lullaby, a comforting melody that cuts through the confusion. I want to ask where we’re going, what’s happening, but the words remain trapped in the fog that envelops my mind.

I feel the jostle of movement, the sensation of being carried, and Zeke’s growls intensify. Are we running from something? Are we running towards safety? The questions linger, but the answers remain elusive. All I know is the rhythmic beat of Zeke’s steps and the growls that weave through the darkness like a protective

shield.

Zeke’s rumbling, a deep vibration that resonates through his chest, reaches me in the cocoon of his arms. It’s a sound both primal and comforting, a reminder that I’m not alone in this disorienting journey through the unknown. The darkness threatens to pull me under, but Zeke’s presence becomes a lifeline, a connection that anchors.me in the tumultuous sea of uncertainty.

I hear him muttering, the words a blend of reassurance and urgency.

“Hold on, Alina,” he says, his voice cutting through the fog. “Just, hold on!”

Hold on to what? I wonder, but the question dissipates like a fleeting dream. Zeke’s arms tighten around me, a protective embrace that shields me from the unknown dangers that lurk in the darkness.

In the moments of consciousness, I catch glimpses of Zeke’s face. His eyes,

focused and determined, meet mine.

“We’re almost there.”

He murmurs, and I nod, or at least I think I do.

The fog within me is thick, a swirling tempest that blurs the edges of reality. But Zeke’s words become a guiding light, a promise of sanctuary in the midst of

chaos.

We keep moving. Running, perhaps towards safety, perhaps away from danger. The darkness clings to me like a heavy cloak, and Zeke’s growls become a protective shield that guards against the unknown.

My arms feel heavy and limp, like they’re not really mine.

I try to lift them, but they resist, as if they belong to someone else. There’s a fog in my mind, a persistent haze that blurs the edges of everything. I long let of

pressed against the wound on my neck.

is a steady anchor in the disorienting fog. I can feel his movements, his hands working. He presses a new cloth against the wound, against the

in the haze, for the steady hands that take care

can’t.

hear him muttering, his voice a distant echo. Words

effort of keeping them open feeling like a monumental task. I let them close, surrendering to the darkness that

envelops

now closer, reaches me again. “You’re doing great, Alina!” he murmurs, the words a soothing melody in the dissonant symphony. Great at what, I wonder, but the question slips away like sand

layer of reassurance to the symphony of sounds. He’s pressing a kiss to the side of my head, a tender gesture that ripples through the darkness. Gratitude swells

storm. The world is a swirl of sounds, a cacophony of pursuit. Zeke’s arms around me, a steady cocoon in the midst of the tempest. That’s what they’re doing–chasing

roar,

a fierce declaration

Keep away. Mine.

a claim that should

in the midst of pursuit, I melt

Run

danger. The footsteps, the snarls–they’re like distant shadows the periphery of our shared sanctuary. I feel Zeke’s arms tighten around me, protective embrace

won’t let them hurt you, Alina,” he murmurs, the words like a

commitment that I feel more than understand. In this moment, I let go

by this intense darkness that feels like a heavy cloak. My

Where am I?

question echoes in my mind, a persistent whisper

pain shooting through my neck. It

the source of the pain, my fingers grazing against something unexpected. Leaves pressed against my neck, a makeshift bandage that hints at a story I can’t quite grasp. I press on it, feeling the texture of the leaves, the

warmth beneath.

in, a foggy disorientation that clouds my thoughts.

“W–what…?”

of a cave. I sit up, the movement cautious and slow, as if testing the solidity of my surroundings. The fire dances in the corner, casting flickering shadows that play on the cave walls. The warmth of the flames is a stark contrast to the coolness of the

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lanung handaand

glance around, searching for any sign of life, any clue to the mystery that shrouds me. But the cave remains silent, as

to say, I’m

hits me like a sudden gust of wind, a whirlwind that tugs at the edges of my consciousness. I’m alone in a cave, my surroundings unfamiliar,

like a puzzle piece I can’t fit into the larger picture. I inspect the leaves, running my fingers over their edges, feeling the way they are carefully arranged. Someone did this for me, I realize,

flames. A bag. That’s what I see a bag placed by the fire. I reach for it, my fingers fumbling with the clasps. The bag feels heavy, and my curiosity intensifies. What’s inside? Will it hold

of objects that offer no immediate explanation. A water flask, a few supplies, and a piece of folded paper.

A map.

I can’t help but flinch. I let go of the map, groaning in frustration as I massage my throbbing temples, huddled in

approaching presence until a sudden shuffle disrupts the tranquility. The sudden jolt propels me to my feet. Panic grips me like a vice, tightening with each heartbeat. The cave, once a sanctuary, feels like a trap closing in on me. I strain my ears, listening intently to the approaching footsteps, my