One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 13, page 4

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Zhíno Zhudıro followed the trail of the energy that had healed him, back along its tendrils toward the soul of the deceased man. The path flickered and faded, stretching from one universe to another, but Zhíno never lost its track. He was a bloodhound on a scent. He was a falcon close upon his prey. He was a wolf stalking his dinner.

Névazhíno was nowhere to be seen any longer, but that hardly mattered. The god had performed a mere pittance of His power. The old man, on the other hand, had given every last drop of his life for Zhíno.

The floating line of dissipating energy coalesced in a clump of swirling particles. It had to be the man. Where he was, exactly, Zhíno didn’t know, but that didn’t stop him from leaping into the universe the old man inhabited.

His paws landing on cool grass and soft plants--a meadow-covered hillside. Ahead of him, up the hill a ways, the old man stared off into the distance. He seemed at least a decade younger than Zhíno remembered from his brief view earlier. Not nearly so plump, saggy, or bald.

Zhíno trotted up to the man. When he spotted Zhíno, he began to frantically search around, obviously in a panic to defend himself. Zhíno stopped, realizing that his form was a wolf. For some reason, he couldn’t figure out how to change it. The way he previously flitted from one animal to a next didn’t seem to work in this place.

He tried to speak. “Thank you.” Zhíno breathed out heavily, relaxing. At least this lupine body responded to his commands, however unusual they might be for a wolf. Zhíno knew how to talk, and so Zhíno-as-a-wolf knew how to talk.

The human straightened, standing tall with feet at shoulder width, and rubbed his forehead. “Um. . . You’re welcome?”

Zhíno wagged his tail and slowly resumed walking forward, making sure to stay on the downhill side the man.

“Don’t you recognize me?” asked Zhíno, dropping his ears back briefly.

The man slowly shrugged. “Should I?” he growled.

“My name is Zhíno. We met in conflict in the other world, but that is of little importance now.”

The man scowled, his eyes slits. “I’m Pí‘oro,” he quietly drawled.

Zhíno wagged his tail. “You gave your life for me, Pí‘oro. Névazhíno took your lifeforce to heal my body. And now I’ve come here to thank you for your sacrifice.”

Pí‘oro staggered, shaking his head. “No. No. What are you talking about?”

“The god Névazhíno used your energy to heal me. Don’t you remember this? Didn’t you volunteer?” The god had given Zhíno a choice of being the sacrifice or recipient. Surely He would have given Pí‘oro a similar option.

Pí‘oro plopped down onto his rear end, staring blankly at Zhíno’s yellow wolf eyes. “No. . .” was all he said.

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