THE EARTH SPITS WHAT SHOULD BE RETURNED

Maddox excavated the secret he buried with the worms. His hand got caught in a strap and he shoveled a sigil-patterned pack out the trench. When he opened the zipper, a maroon light beamed memories into his eyes: he remembered wading into rivers in his youth and submerging his forearms until he felt the leeches sting. He always welcomed parasites—and protected them too.

For once, he asked himself why but pain wormed through his brain. Maddox cringed at the message from above—it beckoned certainty, so he shook off the ache with an approving nod. After that, he looked over his shoulder, hesitantly thanked his lord, then made haste into the wilderness. Turns out, he always lacked the headspace to backtrack. He threw fate to the trees.

Old pine towered over the hound. The leaves were shrouded in the night, and he couldn’t shake off the uncanny sensation that the woods were after him too. Behind him, rays of light danced in the forest. They were accompanied by shouting, growing louder in their chase.

There was no direction BUT forward. Maddox raced through the brush, pushing away shrubbery and branches with calloused hands. He winced through the stings. And his burning legs, too: his aching body screamed for him to stop running but he wouldn’t listen, for his heart thumped out of fear as well.

Personal choices were always posed as mistakes, such as the “mistake” of running. Such a personal choice he made many moons ago came back and inflicted a searing pain - burning, screeching sensations he could induce a fraction of by gliding his tongue across the scar tissue where four of his fangs once stood. The hound’s mouth was marred with his mistakes, but he lived to feel the residual aches. He couldn’t stop caressing the mottled gums, each stroke adding tension to his grimace. They were reminders of the life he got to continue living. In a way, the pain proved comforting. Memories of pliers and sigils erased any doubt that backtracking was a better option, and what the road offered were choices for him to make, no matter the cost.

The forbidden goods he fled with sealed the deal—his coffin as well. No amount of teeth could make up for biting, and then tearing off the hand that fed him. The only certainty was death, which made the void-like wilderness tempting to run into, but at least he didn’t wear a proverbial collar and leash. Every step his heart wheezed for wind was another breath for himself.

Now, the orders came from his mind: run, keep running.

If he could stand, he could walk, and if he could walk, he could run—that was his philosophy. It was enough to put distance between him and the light show. There was no room to think about the road beyond with the hunters on his tail taking up headspace. Maddox could worry about that after, but he’s no stranger to constructing nearsighted plans.

The burrowing headache lectured that choice was always in his hands. For every order he received to pull the trigger and hurt one of his own, there was a choice not to, even if it meant execution. Maddox knew the right escape route for when it was time to run from his choices. He didn’t know better than to avoid getting into his circumstance many years ago, however.

Divine punishment finally caught up with Maddox in the form of a root, which his foot proceeded to get caught on. He instinctively raised the pack to his chest and held onto it for dear life. He fell, then furled down a hill. The dog shielded the pack with his body and yelped on the way down. “Was it all for nothing?” his mind asked after crashing at the bottom of the ravine.

Maddox stopped moving just this once. Despite that, his heart raced faster than before—outpacing the distant shouts. His nails dug into the bag, blessing it with pleas as he carefully uncurled himself. On the ground, panting and pleading with shaky breath, he unzipped the pack and burrowed into fabrics. A soft light beamed at the end of the tunnel and highlighted the worry on his ghastly features.

At the end, there was a glass tube of orange liquid bearing sigils on its opaque ends. Its soft glow illuminated the first grin Maddox allowed in a lifetime as he gently unearthed the container, then bore witness to a fist-sized leech swimming in the substance. The hound stared fondly at the parasite like it was his baby. He smudged his finger on the glass and that little guy homed in on the opposite side.

The worm opened a mouth with several tiny teeth, proceeding to suck on the glass where flesh kissed. His smile grew but faded when the distant shouts gave orders to search in his direction. After a few more pecks, he let go and reburied the tube in the cushioned pack.

He recuperated, brushed nature off his coat, and continued his mad dash into the shadows. Safety in the unknown.