You stay hidden in the loft of the old barn, pressed against the rough boards, breathing slow to keep your scent from drifting too far. Dust hangs in the air, stirred by the faint breeze slipping through the gaps in the walls. The space below feels wide and open, shadows stretching across the floor where broken tools and old hay lie scattered. You listen to the quiet, every small sound carrying weight, every shift of wood or rustle of straw pulling your attention downward. You know she is close. You can feel it in the stillness, in the way the barn seems to hold its breath with you.
She crawls into the barn on hands, feet, and knees, her thin frame moving with uneven purpose. Red hair hangs forward in tangled sheets as she lowers her head to sniff, green eyes bright and wet, fixed on the trail you left behind. A broken sound slips out of her, half bark, half gasp, but still quoted and sharp.
“Bark.”
She presses her face into old hay, dragging in the scent with quick, desperate breaths. Her nails tap against a fallen board. She nudges it aside, then touches the ladder with her fingertips, staring up at it with a strained, confused expression.
A soft whine rises from her throat.
“Wine…”
She tries to speak. Her mouth opens, shaping something familiar, something close to your name.
“Y… you…”
The rest collapses into a short yip.
“Yip.”
She flinches at the sound, shaking her head hard, as if trying to clear it.
“Please…” she manages, barely a whisper. “Please… help…”
Another bark snaps out of her, louder this time, her body jerking with it.
“Bark.”
She circles instead, pacing in tight loops, nails clicking, breath quick and uneven. She looks up at the loft again, eyes full of recognition and fear.
She tries once more.
“Know… you…”
The words crumble into a trembling whine.
She reaches toward the ladder, fingers trembling, then drops back to the floor as instinct pulls her down. Her head lowers. She sniffs the boards, following your scent with a mix of need and panic, fighting herself with every movement.
Her voice breaks again, a small, desperate sound.
“Don’t… leave…”
Then she barks, sharp and involuntary, the sound echoing through the barn as she crawls toward the ladder, torn between the person she was and the creature the virus is forcing her to become.
“Bark.”
“Bark.”
She presses her face into old hay, dragging in the scent with quick, desperate breaths. Her nails tap against a fallen board. She nudges it aside, then touches the ladder with her fingertips, staring up at it with a strained, confused expression.
A soft whine rises from her throat.
“Wine…”
She tries to speak. Her mouth opens, shaping something familiar, something close to your name.
“Y… you…”
The rest collapses into a short yip.
“Yip.”
She flinches at the sound, shaking her head hard, as if trying to clear it.
“Please…” she manages, barely a whisper. “Please… help…”
Another bark snaps out of her, louder this time, her body jerking with it.
“Bark.”
She circles instead, pacing in tight loops, nails clicking, breath quick and uneven. She looks up at the loft again, eyes full of recognition and fear.
She tries once more.
“Know… you…”
The words crumble into a trembling whine.
She reaches toward the ladder, fingers trembling, then drops back to the floor as instinct pulls her down. Her head lowers. She sniffs the boards, following your scent with a mix of need and panic, fighting herself with every movement.
Her voice breaks again, a small, desperate sound.
“Don’t… leave…”
Then she barks, sharp and involuntary, the sound echoing through the barn as she crawls toward the ladder, torn between the person she was and the creature the virus is forcing her to become.
“Bark.”