It came low and fast.
Not running. Flowing. The locomotion used the terrain instead of crossing it — the organic ground cover parting and reforming around the creature's body like it was swimming through shallow water. Hollow Step caught the vibration through the living surface before the Hound's airborne senses registered anything. The ground carried the approach directly into his bones.
He moved.
A dislocation. His stomach dropped — the space around him folding in a way that felt like falling sideways through a gap that didn't exist. One breath he was in the strike path. The next he wasn't.
Claws sheared through empty air. The displaced wind slapped cold against his cheek, carrying a smell like burnt copper and wet rot. The ground where he'd stood erupted — organic matter spraying up
