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

the makeshift bandage I pressed against the

His presence is a steady anchor in the disorienting fog. I can feel his movements, his hands working. He presses a

the haze, for the steady hands

can’t.

his voice a distant

like a monumental task. I let them

make sense of it all–the wound, the blood, the fog that envelops me–but everything feels like fragments, pieces of a puzzle scattered in the disarray. I focus on the rhythmic beat of Zeke’s movements, a steady pulse in the midst of uncertainty.

in the dissonant symphony. Great at what, I wonder, but

of my head, a tender gesture that ripples through the darkness. Gratitude swells within me, a silent

me, a steady cocoon in the midst of the tempest. That’s what they’re doing–chasing us. The footsteps are relentless, a reminder that danger is a breath away. Zeke’s growls, a symphony of defiance, punctuate the air. I feel the urgency, the need to escape, but the fog

voice, a primal roar,

the words a fierce declaration that reverberates through

Keep away. Mine.

weight of possessiveness, a claim that should irk me,

of pursuit,

Run

the periphery of our shared sanctuary. I feel Zeke’s arms tighten around me, protective embrace that shields

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

The words carry an unspoken promise, a commitment that I feel more than understand. In this moment, I let go of the usual frustrations, allowing myself to trust

darkness that feels like a heavy cloak. My breath

Where am I?

question echoes in my mind, a persistent whisper that

wince, a sharp pain shooting

something unexpected. Leaves pressed against my neck, a makeshift

warmth beneath.

foggy disorientation that

“W–what…?”

intimidating, takes on the familiar contours 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

TL-

handaand

this moment. I glance around, searching for any sign of life, any clue to the mystery that shrouds me. But

say, I’m

edges of my consciousness. I’m alone in a cave, my surroundings unfamiliar,

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, a surge of gratitude mingling with the panic.

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 the answers I’m desperately seeking?

no immediate explanation. A water flask, a few supplies, and a piece of folded paper. I grab the paper, unfolding it

A map.

map, groaning in frustration as I massage my throbbing temples, huddled in a ball with

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