Autumn 1890 – The Tracks Left in the Lands Not There

 

We ran. It seemed like the only sensible course of action. The thing from the Other Country followed. It neither ran nor flew but floated after us, its feet moving as if they were stepping on solid ground despite staying at least a foot above any ground of this world. 

As we ran, I cursed myself for leaving all my tools at the cabin. Then I set that indulgence aside and looked at the ground. I might not have my hammer but the old volcano had left a wealth of loose rock. I spun about, dropped and came up with a fist sized rock in each hand.