PRIME

Desert Hunt

Dust flew behind Farrier and his dog as they sprinted over the cracked, flat desert surface. Farrier's hook-swords slashed the air as he pumped his arms, huffing and blinking blood out of his eyes. The cuts on his face stung from his sweat. The ground rumbled beneath his feet. A roar thundered behind him. He stumbled and fell to one knee, sticking his swords into the ground so that he wouldn't collapse.

His giant bear of a dog skidded to a stop. High-pitched whines broke through the muffled curtain of Farrier's half-deaf ears. A wet snout pressed against his cheek before snuffling into Farrier's curly black hair.

"No. No, Argo," Farrier gasped, lifting a hand off his sword handle to push his dog's snout away. "Don't wait for me. It's not safe. Go!"

Argo kept whining, his pink tongue flicking up to lick his nose. He positioned himself in front of Farrier and sat down, panting from the heat.

"No! Bad dog!" Farrier's hoarse voice cracked. His body trembled as he started to cough into the scarf wrapped around his mouth. "Go! Leave me alone and track Howlan!"

Argo barked.

Farrier's teeth gnashed. "Don't you talk back to me! Just leave me here and go!"

Argo's eyes slid up to something behind Farrier. His whines deepened into a throaty growl and he started to bark, tail raised like a dark flare. Farrier dipped his head, gritting his teeth. He clicked his tongue twice, and the barks sank into a soft whine.

His legs protested as he rose to his full height, jerking his hook-swords out of the ground. The worn, heavy rucksack slung over his back pulled him down, and he staggered back before he could regain his balance. He panted into his scarf as he looked over his shoulder, his heaving chest straining against his stiff utility vest.

The deadbeasts had caught up.

"Tired of running?" asked the bigger one. The warped, eerily human voice in the deadbeast's throat came out sounding like it was speaking through a metal pipe.

The smaller one slithered close, cocking its head at Farrier. "Tired of living?"

"Must be." The bigger one released a rough, metallic laugh. "Little, little boy all alone. Tasty treat!"

"Not alone." The smaller one snapped at Argo, who jumped back with a low warning growl. "Dog. Big, big dog. More meat on this one!"

"Tough meat. Littleboy looks tender. Sweet, juicy Littleboy."

"Bigdog meatier."

Farrier scowled, staring past the deadbeasts. Light bounced off a dull line of tungsten steel in the distance－ the Altheian Dreadwall. A fifty-meter tall, impenetrable fortress with a spiked Chasm on both sides. His hands clenched around the handles of his hook-swords.

"I don't suppose," Farrier said slowly, "you'll take some advice from your meal?"

"Hmm?" Both deadbeasts turned to him.

The larger one cocked its head. "It speaks."

"You still have some flesh on those dead bones," said Farrier. "By now, your muscles are completely useless. Deadbeasts are bone elementals, so you're using your magic to move your bodies, right? Wouldn't it be easier to eat yourselves before wasting your energy running after small fry like us?"

The deadbeasts turned to each other in surprise.

"Eat... ourselves?" echoed the smaller one.

"We do have some meat," the bigger one said wonderingly.