His body was heavy, battered, and weary. Every muscle from his legs to his lungs ached from the exertion of the swim. His nostrils and throat and various cuts and scrapes burned from the saltwater. His healthy black coat had thickened just in time for winter, but the ocean had chilled him to the bone and he trembled violently as he made his way up the beach.
Yet his heart was heaviest of all. Its ache was the one that hurt the most.
Kune's bloodshot eyes watched his surroundings cautiously, and his prominent Roman nose lifted to test the air as he walked. The meadow appeared to be empty this early in the morning, which was a welcome respite. He hurried through the grass, which was crisp with frost, keeping to the treeline to avoid any undue attention just in case there were unseen eyes watching.
He did not stop moving until the itch had left his legs. Surely he had gone far enough now, right? He was in a new land, a place that bore no memory of him. He could only pray that it would not chew him up and spit him right back out. He did not feel any malevolence yet, which in itself could mean nothing, but he would allow himself to believe that it did.
With fear and sorrow thick in his chest, Kune lowered his hurting body to the ground in a dense thicket overlooked by several naked oaks, and turned his eyes to the heavens. The early morning sky was pale grey overhead, promising snow later. Its color reminded him of Běla.
Kune expelled a sharp breath he'd been holding and lowered his head to the cold ground.
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