Small, twinkling droplets of spit flew in the air as tiny, round specks reflecting clear moon and stars. The sky was bright and clear, tiny twinkling lights against a black backdrop, scattered stars and a whole, beautifully white moon illuminating shining pelts and casting long, blue shadows across the dirt and grass.

There was a single second in time as the wolf was partially in the air, stars around him in small drips, condensed and suspending in cool, night air, his tongue, pink gums, black lips and white teeth all visible in a gaping, snarling, spitting mouth; his muzzle curled back with creases down the centre where it was brown and shadowed. His angry, wide eyed reflected the entire moon, and he became the night, quick and dark and fiery.

He did not hesitate as The Baron mounted Laika. His huge, muted moonlit form moved in a blurry, bokeh-lit action, a blur of shining brown and grey and black fur. The huge body flew through the air and then bowled into The Baron's reflective white body, muzzle to muzzle, flashing teeth to teeth, and suddenly the two were in a huge, fur-flying, spit-flying brawl of teeth, claw, and hair, one side darkened with shade and the other illuminated in beautiful aqua light, shimmering with gentle lines as if they were fighting beneath the blue, gleaming ocean itself. Their hair seemed to wave like they were underwater as well, in big looping waves back and forth, back and forth. It stood on end for both dogs, hackles raised bad gums showing, blood droplets scattering across the ground.

In only an instant, the fury of the feral beast came rushing down on The Baron's bright white form like an unruly salted wave, and the fight was full of blood scattering, hair flying, and crying out. The Baron fell backwards onto his back, and the wolf landed right on top of him. Kicking spastically, the white dog flailed beneath him. Teeth met teeth with ferocity, lip met lip in blood, and snarls echoed across half of the tribe's land.

The wolf's eyes were nearly closed his face was so wrinkled with hate and growl, and he wasn't quite sure what he was grabbing a hold of, but he bit down hard on fur and flesh and felt the familiar crack of bone beneath his broad jaws, and then, at The Baron's loud howl for help, just as quickly as he had pounced, the wolf fled.

The Baron cried out, "Follow them! Bring the wolf back alive!"

The wolf jumped from The Baron's battered, calling form, and then flipped around and sprinted, the Saluki now following in equally frightened stride. As they ran, she glanced up at him, and he down at her, and they both noticed the moon in the other's eyes. How prominent the moon was on Laika's coat, giving her a blue aura, a gentle aqua outline, darkening shadows and brightening her shimmering highlights. She seemed to glow and run with speed like a Gazelle or a Goddess. Both, maybe.

The wolf was clumsier, bounding like a horse, every pound against the earth with his paws thrusting against his entire, large body like the wind or earth's quaking. He moved in rolling, heaving bounds. The saluki ran with precision and speed and strength, like an arrow, quickly sprinting with elegance and an aero body movement, head lowered and tail down. The wind pulsated through her feathered fur, rolling along it like an ocean along the sand in beautiful, black, smooth waves. The frothy foam among them was the glistening sheen to her luxurious feathered coat.

Still. They were ugly. Loud panting, tongues out, spit flying and dirt trampled beneath them, flying up in a powder of dust and along their legs which suddenly seemed dull with dry, brown mess. Surely they'd both have matts of tangled, muddy fur lining their legs and bellies by the end of such a wild, messy chase.

They both recalled where they had come from a week ago and which entrance they had used, and now, they raced back through the alley and past fearful, onlooking dogs, through a forest of dense, gross scents. It stunk like musk, mold, and sweat, but through it all was a small, calm stream of breeze that smelled of fresh dirt and softly decaying forest logs, a creeping green moss upon them. It smelled cool and sweet like tender water.

Hearts pounding, legs hot and pumping, they sped across dirt and up-ripped dry winter grass, panic in their throats and chests. That special forest scent pushed through the wolf's nose and into his veins, pumping blood from his heart to his head, which pounded heavily like his feet did upon the cold ground. They were hard, heavy steps, laced with strong adrenaline, fear, and energy, the itching of excitement to see the forest after having spent much too long in captivity. His fur lifted with the wind that smeared across him, coating his dense pelt in the musky scents of the tribe. Running with an itch, now, the wolf could only think about how he couldn't wait to roll around in the forest's browned leaves and relieve himself of such a poor stench. To not have to make dirt in a cave anymore would be nothing short of wonderful: to mark trees once again and dig in light, dirty holes. To have his feet upon soft ground rather than hard rocks and stones and the gravel and dirt and dead grass of the tribe's pathways.

The excitement was pounding, throbbing even. It was overwhelming, exhilarating. He couldn't seem to breathe large enough, to pant hard enough, to sprint fast enough. His claws ripped apart dirt beneath him. He even seemed to forget about the tight, thick rope that held its grip around his neck.

They took one last turn in a powerful, blurring unison, lifting dust behind them as many chased closely. The tribe's tall, wooden walls past their peripheral, and suddenly, the two canines were out of the tribe and running through beautiful, dark, winter forest.

They had escaped. It was done. Still, the fight and chase was not over yet, and their legs kept moving with a speedy force, blurred against the scene, leaves crunching beneath quick paws. A small group of dogs pursued them in quick, strong chase, most of them being strong guardian dogs or mastiff-type dogs. They were huge, clanky beasts, built like tanks, galloping after the wolf and the saluki with mighty strength and prowess. The wolf and saluki, too, ran with mighty strength and prowess.

But they had to be clever. They couldn't run forever, and both of them knew it. The fear drove them to run faster and farther, but where could they go? The wolf thought for a moment as he ran, eyes flickering from tree to shrub as they whizzed past him. Then, an idea sparked. Per Laika's wishes, he decided not to go about his plan before telling her, but running, panting, and talking all at once seemed like a chore.

Through gasps of air as they ran, he spoke, "Laika! I've got a plan. Follow me!"

"Where else would I go, dipshit?" She snapped, "We're roped together still!"

Oh, right. That. The wolf had managed to forget all about that tricky predicament, which surely would solve itself later. He shook off the worry, confided in his energy, and made a sharp turn left, then right, then a slight turn left again, zig-zagging through dry shrubs and past empty trees. The large dogs bounding behind him struggled to keep up, having no experience leaping over shrubs or turning corners around huge oak trunks. The saluki was faltering, but dragged along by her lead. She used her long legs and athletic build to her advantage, taking mighty jumps over shrubs and the occasional log, rock, or hole. She could turn fast, too, like a rabbit. Like the wolf. Both were designed to match the rabbit's trickiness in a hunt. Both were designed to chase and kill rabbits. And now, both were aided in using the rabbit's clever zig-zag manoeuvre through dense brush to evade a second capture by huge hounds.

The wolf's eyes darted from log, to shrub, to tree limb, all flashing past them on one side and the other, and then eyed a stone buried half way in the dirt; and then, he recognised in a small moment exactly where they were and how deep they had gone into the forest.

He knew with a preconceived instinct that a deep densite was near. Following this instinct, he turned once, then again, and then saw it: the gaping hole in the ground. As fast as he could, the wolf skid to his belly and crawled into the burrow. It opened up to a larger dirt room a few feet beneath the leaf-littered topsoil of the forest.

The saluki hesitated, watching with wide eyes as the rope around her throat grew taught, a straight brown line to beneath the ground. It tugged at the Wolf's throat as he struggled through the dusty crawlspace. It smelled like fresh, wet soil.

He growled, his voice a muffled echo to the Saluki, "Laika! Come! You're holding me back- we have to hide!"

"I don't know!" She said, panic, her voice rising in octaves. "That's a hole of dirt! What if it collapses? It's too dark. It's too wet."

"It's no dry cave or leather hut," the wolf snarled, "But it's safe! Now, come!" He pushed forward, belly to the floor, and yanked Laika by the rope, to which she squealed a little and reluctantly took after him, crawling into the darkness with a disgusted look spread across her face.