The land of the West was still and quiet, as if holding its breath for what was to come. Flint and Dwayne sat under the shade of a twisted old tree, their fur dusted with dried leaves and ash. The chase had taken a toll on them. Their paws were sore, their muscles aching, and their minds worn thin from the endless pursuit. But they had no choice.
The mimic still roamed free. And it still wore Athisa’s face.
Flint let out a deep breath, transforming back into his human form. His shirt was torn, his chest heaving with exhaustion. He stared up at the grey sky, the clouds thick and unmoving. Dwayne followed, slumping to the ground beside him.
“Five minutes,” Flint said, his voice hoarse. “Then we move.”
Dwayne gave a small nod, rubbing his shoulder. The silence between them was heavy. The
