Chapter 229: The Chase

The attackers lay dead in the sand, their headless bodies already beginning to sink into the shifting dunes.

But there was no time to dwell on what had just happened. The animals had scattered in the chaos, their instincts driving them to flee from the violence.

The goats were already far away, their small bodies disappearing over a distant dune. The cows were running toward a cluster of rocks, their heavy hooves kicking up clouds of dust.

The Moatts were moving slowly but steadily away from the caravan, their massive bodies swaying with each step.

Darion was already running toward the nearest group of animals.

The wagon men joined in, their initial shock fading as they realized the urgency of the situation.

They had been paid to deliver these animals, and if they lost them, they would be responsible for the loss.

They sprinted after the cows and Moatts, their voices calling out to the animals, trying to calm them.

The goats were the biggest problem. They had run farther than the others, their small, agile bodies making them difficult to catch.

They had found their freedom and were not letting go.

For days, they had been cooped up in cages and pens, their movements restricted, their instincts suppressed. Now, they were free. They were running, their legs pumping, their hearts racing.

They had been waiting for this moment their whole lives, and they were not going to give it up easily.

The wagon men tried to chase them, but they couldn’t keep up. The goats were too swift and too energetic. They darted left and right, their movements erratic and unpredictable.

Every time the wagon men got close, the goats would veer off in a new direction, leaving the men stumbling in the sand.

They were basically playing "you can’t catch me," dodging so wonderfully whatever attempt the men made to catch them.

Every time a wagon man lunged forward, thinking he had one cornered, the goat would dart to the side with a sudden burst of speed, its hooves kicking up sand as it changed direction.

Another would wait until the man was almost within reach, then bolt straight between his legs, forcing him to stumble and spin around in frustration.

The goats seemed almost to be enjoying themselves. Their bleats carried a mocking tone, as if they were laughing at the humans chasing them.

One particularly clever goat would stand still, watching the men approach with a calm, almost bored expression, then at the last possible moment, it would spring away, running in a wide circle and coming to a stop behind the men, bleating loudly as if to say "too slow."

Another would zigzag across the dunes, its movements so unpredictable that the wagon men collided with each other trying to keep up.

It was almost comical if it wasn’t so frustrating. The wagon men were experienced, but they were no match for the goats’ speed and agility.

The goats were too swift, too energetic, too determined to be free. They had been waiting for this moment their whole lives, and they were going to make the most of it.

Darion watched for a moment, assessing the situation. The wagon men were wasting their energy on the goats, and they were getting nowhere. He needed to take control.

"The... horses," Darion shouted, his voice carrying across the sand, he turned to face the men.

"The goats are too fast for you. Focus on the cows and Moatts. I’ll handle the goats."

The wagon men hesitated for a moment, then nodded. They turned their attention to the cows and Moatts, leaving the goats to Darion and his knights.

Darion, Seren, and Garren had brought three horses with them, but they were far away, having fled in the chaos.

The knights had been thrown from their saddles during the attack, and the horses had scattered. Darion needed to retrieve them quickly, but he didn’t have time for a long chase. He had to be efficient.

With the wagon men now focused on the other animals and not looking in his direction, Darion reached into his inventory and summoned Ghet Ulg.

The massive undead appeared beside him, its green eyes glowing in the harsh sunlight. It stood still, waiting for his command.

"Find the horses," Darion said. "Bring them back."

Ghet Ulg moved instantly, its massive strides carrying it across the sand. It was fast, faster than any living creature could have been.

Within minutes, it had located the three horses, its presence terrifying them into submission. The horses stood still, their eyes wide with fear, as Ghet Ulg herded them back to Darion.

Darion quickly unsummoned Ghet Ulg and handed the reins to the three knights, who had been waiting nearby.

"Hold them," he said. "Don’t let them run."

The knights nodded, taking the reins and securing the horses. Darion turned his attention back to the goats. They were still running, their small figures disappearing over the dunes. He needed something faster, something that could catch them.

He summoned the Horned Olfs. The creatures appeared briefly, their green eyes scanning the distance. They moved with silent speed, their muscular bodies carrying them across the sand. They were faster than the goats, more agile.

They chased the goats down, herding them back toward the caravan.

When the wagon men looked up, Darion had already unsummoned the Horned Olfs. All they saw were the goats running back toward them, their eyes wide with fear, their legs pumping.

They were being chased by something, but they couldn’t see what.

The wagon men caught the goats, their hands grabbing at their ropes, their voices shouting commands.

The goats struggled, bleating and kicking, but the men were strong enough to hold them. Within minutes, all the goats were secured, their ropes tied, their bodies still.

They wanted to be free again, that much was obvious from the way they had fought and dodged and refused to be caught.

For those precious minutes, they had tasted what it felt like to run without restrictions, to follow their instincts without ropes or cages.

Their bleats had been wild, their movements desperate, their tiny hearts pounding with the thrill of escape.

They had outrun grown men, had zigzagged through the sand with a grace that seemed impossible for creatures of their size.

For a brief, shining moment, they had been truly free.

But that freedom had been short-lived.

Darion watched, his face calm. The undeads had done their work, and they were already gone.

The cows were rounded up next, their heavy bodies easily corralled.

They had run toward a cluster of rocks, their instinct driving them to seek shelter. But the wagon men were experienced, and they knew how to handle cows.

They surrounded them, their voices calm, their hands steady. The cows were led back to the caravan, their heads low, their bodies quiet.

The Moatts were the easiest of all. They had moved slowly, their massive bodies unable to maintain a fast pace.

They had wandered a short distance away, their docile nature making them simple to guide back. A few gentle words, a few gentle tugs on their ropes, and they were walking back toward the caravan, their huge bodies swaying with each step.

Within minutes, all the animals were gathered together. Their ropes were secured, their cages reloaded. The caravan was ready to continue.

Darion looked at the headless bodies one last time, then turned away.

The sand would cover them completely soon enough. He mounted his horse and urged the caravan forward.

The journey continued.