If they were only playing hide and seek, Tyson surely had won against Harlow.
The bright clouds were turning gloomy time by time. The winds were whistling through her ears. She stopped running for a moment and looked at the dancing trees. Little drops of rains then touched her skin, until they became bigger.
Her cries were lost beneath the thunder that rolled overhead. The sky was so low that even outside on the hills she was claustrophobic. If she didn't find Tyson soon even her scent would be washed away by the oncoming squall. She would be wet, cold and frightened, even the night was encroaching quickly, adding to the gloom. She called out again, shrill but loud, anything to pierce the thick air. She ran on and called again, her words clipped by another oppressive boom.
There was
