jarrott
AND THE LAST ERADICATOR
AND SOME MOON CYCLES AFTER THAT
Needing a short break, the Chief Eradicator paused at the next tree he came across and leaned his face against it, his lungs heaving out short, stuttered pants.
He was getting too old for this.
Twisting around slowly until his back was to the bark, Jarrott closed his eyes and tipped his face toward the sky, giving himself a moment to rest. His hand pressed against the stitch in his side that was working its way steadily into his chest, and air burned a path up his throat, eager to evacuate his worn body.
Sweat trickled along the side of his brow as the chill of the wet morning air blistered the end of his nose. He strained to listen for movement in the forest surrounding him, but blood pounded through his head so quickly
