Muffled by the mist creeping into Runa’s skull, the distant shouts and the slosh of bilge along the hull faded to a dull hum. Her eyelids fluttered, then shut tight under the pull of sleep. The deck, once a chaotic mosaic of panicked faces and slippery planks, dissolved into a seamless expanse of soft, grey twilight. A sharp, insistent pressure jolted her cheek. It was not the cold river water from Enna's bucket, but something hot, wet, and frantic. A frantic yelp, high-pitched and hoarse, pierced the dream-like haze. It was Bolo. His breath rattled against her jaw, hot and urgent. His tongue scraped across her cheek like rough hide. He jammed his wet snout beneath her chin and whined, the vibration buzzing directly through her collarbone. The fog in Runa’s mind began to rip, not gently, but violently, as if torn by a jagged hook. Bolo. Her Bolo. He was scared. He needed her. The thought, primal and undeniable, ignited a spark of familiar grumpiness in her gut. How dare she succumb to some shimmering nonsense when her only openly loved creature was in distress? How dare she leave him to the mercy of these bumbling, gullible fools? Her eyes opened to the sickly yellow glow of the foreign firebox resting on the planks. Bolo was right there, his single good eye wide and bloodshot, his three legs planted unevenly on the deck as he strained against an unseen leash, yapping soundlessly at her. His tail stayed clamped between his hocks, quivering against the timber. Ten paces off, Tobas dragged a snoring plowman by the armpits, his boots slipping as his knees bowed with drunken slowness. He looked up, slack-jawed and sweating. “Runa… I can’t… the air is like hot wool…” His words trailed off into a heavy yawn. Enna hauled another sloshing pale from the barrel, her damp hair plastered across her forehead as her shoulders dragged. The air itself felt thick, syrup-like, slowing every breath, every thought. Runa hauled herself upright, bile and stubborn bile stinging the back of her throat. She spat onto the boards, disgusted at her own weak knees and the creeping rot of the sleep-trap. Her fingers dropped to the leather loop at her hip, closing around the hickory handle of her cross-peen mallet. The square steel face had driven hundreds of cedar pegs into this very barn. She took a slow, deliberate breath, the syrupy air grating in her lungs. “This is it, then,” she muttered, her voice rough, a low growl that only Bolo seemed to fully register. The dog nudged her hand, a soft, encouraging push. “No more of this soft-headed nonsense.” Her gaze locked onto the pulsing brazier resting in the center of the gangway. It pulsed with a gentle, hypnotic rhythm, casting long, wavering shadows across the faces of the slumbering settlers. Runa stalked towards it, each step deliberate, fueled by an anger that was both cold and scorching. Tobas, roused slightly by her movement, tried to interject. “Runa, wait! What are you doing? It’s… it’s a gift…” His words were slurred, barely audible. She didn’t spare him a glance. “A gift,” she spat, loud enough to cut through the heavy air, “that robs you of your wits and your will. A gift that steals the very life from your bones. We don’t need gifts, we need calluses and cold water and a healthy dose of misery to remind us we’re still breathing.” Planting her boots, she swung the mallet back over her shoulder. The steel edge flared orange against the unnatural embers. The air hummed a hollow note against the metal. She brought the head down with both hands. Not once, not twice, but with a relentless, bone-jarring force. The strike met the stone rim with a sharp *crack*, spraying embers across the pine decking. The radiant heat spiked, then thinned. The villagers stirred, groaning in their grave-sleep, their faces contorting in confused annoyance. Bolo, pressed against her leg, let out a series of silent, frantic barks, his entire body trembling. Runa ignored them all, her teeth gritted. *Crack. Smash. Shatter.* Iron crashed against enchanted masonry, sending dull thuds through the floor joists. Bits of glowing matter, like solidified starlight, flew through the air, hitting the deck with faint *pings* before dissolving into wisps of cold steam. With a sharp yell, Runa swung the iron head downward with her full weight. The cracked vessel shattered into a spray of glass-like shards, venting a blast of dry air that died against the wet floor. The last lingering shimmer faded, plunging the barn into a sudden, biting cold. The oppressive lethargy lifted with astonishing speed, leaving behind only the damp chill of the flooded air and the pervasive smell of wet wood and livestock. Shouts of alarm erupted as the awakened villagers shivered, rubbing their eyes, their previous stupor replaced by a cold, miserable reality. Tobas scrambled backward on hands and knees, staring at the smoking crater of ash. Enna, dripping wet, dropped her empty bucket with a clang, a triumphant grin slowly spreading across her face. [“SUCH DEFIANCE. SUCH CRASS REJECTION OF MY BENEVOLENCE.”] The Benefactor’s voice, once sweet and melodic, was now harsh, metallic, and utterly devoid of its previous charm. It grated against the ears, an unsettling discord that made the teeth ache. [“YOU REFUSE THE GENTLE GIFTS OF STILLNESS. YOU REJECT THE PROMISE OF ETERNAL REST. THEN YOU SHALL KNOW THE TRUE STRENGTH OF THE BENEFACTOR’S DISPLEASURE.”] The ark lurched sideways with a sharp jolt. A low, guttural groan echoed from the deep, a sound that seemed to come from the very bedrock of Yarven. Runa stumbled, catching herself on a feed barrel, her eyes snapping towards the main viewport. The churning grey expanse of the floodwaters, once relatively placid, was now a maelstrom. A massive, swirling vortex had appeared directly in their path, its hungry maw a dark, abyssal pit, drawing everything towards its freezing, crushing core. The barn, stripped of the false glow, surged forward into the swirling black current.

A Dog's Devotion