"Duke, stop it," I hissed, my voice barely above a whisper as the dog's head, previously a comforting weight on my forearm, lifted. His ears perked, and a low growl rumbled from deep within his chest. The sound sent a shiver down my spine, not out of fear of Duke, but because of the uncharacteristic edge to his demeanour.

Beneath the makeshift blanket at my feet, Henri, ever the embodiment of routine, initiated his nightly dance. Turning in precise circles, pawing at the fabric with a meticulousness that bordered on ritualistic, he finally settled into a compact curl. His contented snorts filled the space between us, a sound that, under other circumstances, might have coaxed a smile from me.

"At least you're settled tonight, Henri," I murmured with a hint of envy. My fingers found Duke's soft head, stroking gently in an attempt to soothe his nerves—and perhaps my own. The gentle touch seemed to calm him momentarily, his body relaxing as he settled back down with a sigh.

I lay there in the darkness, the silence of the night punctuated by the occasional sound from Duke or Henri. I couldn't help but reflect on Duke's behaviour. He was normally the epitome of tranquility, a steadfast presence that only erupted into action when a possum dared to taunt him from the safety of the back fence. His sudden restlessness was out of character, and it echoed my own unease. I found myself listening intently for any sound that might have disturbed him, my mind racing with possibilities.

The tent felt charged, the air thick with anticipation. Duke's unease had become my own, a shared tension that seemed to hover just beneath the surface of the night's quiet. I tried to reassure myself that it was nothing, that the shadows didn't hide anything sinister, that Duke's instincts were just momentarily misfired. Yet, the seed of unease had been planted, growing roots that twined uncomfortably around my thoughts.

Lois's bark pierced the stillness of the night, a sharp, urgent sound that cut through the silence outside the tent. Duke reacted instantly, his body tensing as he prepared to leap into action. I felt his muscles coil beneath his fur, a spring loaded with energy and readiness.

Thankfully, years of having to react quickly to his exuberant nature had honed my reflexes. My hands shot out, gripping him firmly before he could bolt and potentially wreak havoc. It was a testament to our bond that he paused, even if just for a moment, allowing me to maintain a tenuous control over the situation.

"What's going on?" The concern in Glenda's voice was evident, even through the fabric of the tent. Her question seemed to hang in the air.

"We don't know," came Paul's response from somewhere outside. His voice, usually so sure and steady, carried a hint of uncertainty this time.

"What's happening?" Joel's inquiry, tinged with sleepiness, drifted from the opposite side of the tent. It underscored the disruption to our night, pulling us all back from the edge of sleep into alertness.

My heart responded to the commotion, its rhythm picking up speed. It wasn't just the cold night air or the sudden activity that caused my pulse to race but the uncertainty of what lay beyond our canvas shelter. "I'm not sure," I admitted, the words barely masking the adrenaline beginning to course through my veins. Duke and I moved as one, a scramble of limbs and determination, as we rolled off the sleeping bag. The urgency of the situation lent speed to our movements, propelling us across the tent's confines toward Joel.

"Hold Duke. I'll go and find out," I directed, the command more of a plea as I entrusted Duke into Joel's arms. It was a moment of trust, a silent acknowledgment of the need for cooperation in the face of the unknown. Joel's hands, though hesitant from the abrupt awakening, wrapped securely around Duke, a physical barrier against the commotion that threatened to unfold.

As I made my way to the front flap, the coolness of the night air brushed against my skin, a noticeable contrast to the warmth that had enveloped us inside the tent. Pressing my face against the mesh, I peered into the near darkness, the outside world a blur of shadows and mystery. My eyes strained to adjust, seeking clarity in the dim light.

"It's getting stronger. We'd better get inside the tents," I overheard Luke's voice, tinged with urgency, cutting through the whistle of the wind that had begun to pick up pace. His words were like a cold splash of reality, bringing with them a sense of impending change.

A gust of wind shook the tent, its force a reminder of nature's untamed power. I turned back toward Joel, my heart rate picking up as I considered our situation. "I think it's just an approaching dust storm," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. The words barely masked the fear that clutched at my chest—a fear rooted in a memory so vivid, it felt like it was happening all over again. The disastrous dust storm that had struck Paul and me our first night in Clivilius flashed through my mind, a chaotic swirl of fear and helplessness.

"Come, Lois," Glenda's voice, both calm and authoritative, cut through my spiralling thoughts. Her command to the dog, whose deep growls had been a constant undercurrent of tension, added a layer of immediacy to the situation.

Suddenly, a gasp pierced the stillness of the night, snapping me back to the present. It was followed by the sound of scampering paws, a familiar sensation as Duke's soft fur brushed against my leg in his haste. The bond we shared, typically a source of comfort, now fuelled my panic as he darted away.

"Duke! Get back here!" I yelled, the fear for his safety propelling me through the tent's flap in a desperate attempt to catch him. My bare feet sank into the fine Clivilius dust, adrenaline pumping through my veins. The dust, a reminder of this place's ability to shift from beauty to menace, swirled around my ankles as I scrambled after Duke.

The abruptness of Luke's shout, "Shit!" had everyone's nerves jangling like alarm bells in the night. The word cut through the tension with an edge sharp enough to slice the thick air. I found myself instantly on high alert, my heart hammering against my ribcage as I hovered protectively over Duke at the front edge of the tent canopy. My hands were poised, ready to act, as I declared my hold over him, "I got him!"

But then Kain's voice, laced with an unmistakable edge of alarm, escalated the situation. "Shit! We're surrounded!" he yelled. Those words sent a chilling wave of fear coursing through my veins. Surrounded? The very thought sent a spiral of panic through my mind. What the hell could we be surrounded by in this desolate landscape?

A sudden fear gripped me, a visceral reaction that clenched my chest tight as if a bolt of lightning had struck me from within. My mind raced, trying to decipher the unseen threat lurking in the darkness around us.

"What's going on?" The panic in Karen's voice was palpable as she and Chris emerged from their tent, their forms shadowy figures against the backdrop of the night. Their appearance, marked by confusion and concern, mirrored the collective apprehension that had taken hold of our group.

"I think it's just a dust—" Paul started, his voice trailing off mid-sentence. The reason for his abrupt halt became glaringly apparent to all of us in that moment. It wasn't just the encroaching peril we had assumed. The faint glow of the Portal's bright, rainbow colours briefly illuminating the dunes in the distance before disappearing cast a new layer of mystery and dread over our predicament. The Portal's presence, with its kaleidoscope of colours dancing across the desert, transformed our understanding of the situation in an instant.

"Is that Luke?" Karen's question, filled with a mix of hope and confusion, cut through the tension.

"I'm right here," Luke's response, close and clear, sent another shudder through me. His voice, though meant to reassure, only heightened the surreal nature of our circumstances. The realisation that we were potentially facing something far beyond a mere dust storm or the natural dangers of the desert was unsettling. The brief appearance of the Portal's colours in the distance, a phenomenon both beautiful and ominous, suggested that we were on the cusp of something unknown.

In that moment, a mix of fear, curiosity, and a profound sense of vulnerability washed over me. The night, once a canvas of predictable risks, had morphed into a scene of unpredictable possibilities. The darkness around us seemed to pulsate with unseen energies, and the silence was filled with the weight of our collective anticipation.

"Duke, stop barking!" The words tumbled from my lips more as a plea than a command, my voice barely rising over the cacophony of the night. Duke, with his body a bundle of nervous energy, seemed to vibrate with urgency, his writhing intensifying as if he was trying to communicate the depth of the danger we were in.

Then, cutting through the tumult, Lois's low growl was abruptly overshadowed by a chilling scream—a sound so harrowing it seemed to freeze the very air around us. The terror it instilled was instantaneous, a visceral shockwave that reverberated through the camp, igniting a pandemonium that sent bodies scattering in every direction. It was as if the scream had not only shattered the night's false calm but had also signalled the unravelling of our collective sense of security.

In the ensuing chaos, my attention was momentarily captured by the sight of my companions scattering, their forms shadows against the night, driven by primal instinct to flee. It was in this moment of distracted horror that Duke seized his chance, slipping from my grasp with a desperation that matched the intensity of the night.

"Duke!" My voice was a mixture of desperation and command, a futile attempt to reclaim control as I swiped at the air where he had just been. But it was too late; he was already melding into the darkness that enveloped us.

With determination fuelling my steps, I plunged into the night after him, the wind rising around me as if to challenge my pursuit. The fine dust kicked up by the storm stung my face, each particle a tiny needle against my skin, blurring my vision and threatening to overwhelm my resolve. Yet, the faint sensation of Duke's fur brushing against my fingertips reignited my hope, a brief contact that was as frustrating as it was encouraging. He was close, tantalisingly so, yet as elusive as a shadow in the tumultuous night.

My heart pounded in my chest, each beat a drum driving me forward through the darkness. The fear for Duke's safety mingled with the adrenaline of the chase, creating a cocktail of emotions that sharpened my focus. The world had narrowed to this singular purpose—retrieving Duke, my loyal companion, from the clutches of the night and whatever horrors it might hold.

The realisation that I was alone, save for the fleeting presence of Duke, in this vast, tumultuous darkness, pressed in on me from all sides. The storm, with its howling winds and biting dust, seemed a living entity, an adversary that I had to navigate in my desperate search. And above all, the eerie scream that had set this perilous dance into motion lingered in my mind, a haunting melody that underscored the urgency of my quest.

Moments later, Duke let out a yelp that cut through the tumult of the night, freezing me in my tracks. The sound was so raw, so filled with terror, that it sent a deathly cold shiver down my spine. It was a sound that dredged up a memory I had hoped to never relive—the only other time I had heard Duke cry out in such agony.

He had been just a puppy, full of life and oblivious to the dangers around him. One evening, caught up in the excitement of being underfoot in the kitchen, he found himself in the most unfortunate of spots at the worst possible time. The incident with the roasting bag, a mundane moment turned traumatic, flashed before my eyes. The bag, containing the freshly cooked chicken, had burst as it made its journey from the baking tray to the serving dish. Several drops of scalding fat and juices had rained down on Duke's back, a momentary lapse that led to immediate panic.

The memory of Luke and I, united in our frantic dash to the laundry sink, was as vivid as if it were happening all over again. It was perhaps the most unified effort of our relationship, a moment where nothing else mattered but the wellbeing of our beloved Duke. Plunging him into the cold water, we desperately tried to soothe the burn, to reverse the damage of those scorching droplets. We had been quick, but even the briefest contact of that heat with Duke's sensitive skin was too much. The memory of his cry, a sound of pure distress, had etched itself into my heart, a haunting reminder of how quickly joy can turn to despair.

Now, here in the darkness, Duke's yelp reignited those feelings of dread and helplessness. My mind raced, conjuring up the worst scenarios as I pressed on through the blinding dust storm. The fear for his safety was overwhelming, a tangible force that propelled me forward despite the stinging sand and raging wind.

The cold shiver that ran down my spine was more than a reaction to the chilling night air; it was the realisation of how vulnerable Duke was in this moment, and how desperate I was to reach him. The bond we shared, forged through moments of joy and pain, was a beacon in the tumultuous night, guiding me towards him. The thought of him in distress, possibly hurt and scared, fuelled my determination to find him, to protect him from whatever danger had elicited such a terrifying sound.

"Duke!" The scream tore from my lips with such intensity that it felt like it was scraping the back of my throat raw. The urgency of the situation, the sheer desperation to find Duke, lent a power to my voice that I scarcely recognised as my own.

In my frantic dash through the storm, I stumbled, the uneven ground betraying me. Falling to my hands and knees, I was engulfed by the dust, a gritty, choking cloud that invaded my mouth as I gasped for air. The fine particles seemed to fill my lungs, each cough a futile attempt to expel the invasive dust.

On all fours, I scrambled forward, my movements more instinctual than guided. My vision was obscured by the swirling sand, rendering my surroundings into a blur of indistinct shapes and shadows. The dim flickering of the campfire, once a beacon of warmth and safety, receded into the distance, growing smaller until it was little more than a pinprick of light in a sea of darkness.

"Duke!" I called out again, desperation lacing my voice, which now caught in my dry, dust-filled throat. The name of my lost companion was a plea cast into the void, a hope against hope that he would hear me and respond.

Suddenly, a cold hand gripped my wrist, halting my blind crawl through the darkness. Startled, I tried to pull away, but the grip was firm, unyielding. "Karen?" I asked, hopeful yet confused, feeling the brush of long hair against my bare chest—a familiar sensation, yet something was off.

"No," came the dry, unfamiliar voice of a woman, her tone devoid of any warmth I might have expected in such a dire situation. The realisation that I was face to face with a stranger in the midst of this mayhem sent a surge of fear through me, my heart pounding against my ribcage as if trying to escape the uncertainty that now gripped me.

Despite my attempts to pull away, to reclaim my autonomy in this bewildering encounter, the woman's grasp only tightened. It was clear she had a purpose, a reason for stopping me, though what that could be in the midst of a dust storm was beyond my comprehension.

"Take him," she said, her voice carrying a command that brooked no argument.

As the woman's firm grip on my wrist relaxed, I ceased my futile attempts to escape her hold and took the small, trembling form of the dog from her arms. "Duke?" The word was a whisper, laden with hope and fear as I stroked his head, desperately seeking the familiarity of his gaze in the oppressive darkness. My fingers trembled as they brushed against his fur, seeking any sign that the dog in my arms was indeed my Duke.

His breathing was shallow, each breath a struggle that tightened the grip of dread around my heart. "Duke, what's wrong?" I implored, my voice cracking under the weight of my growing fear. Then, a sensation I hadn't anticipated—warm liquid trailing down my forearm. My heart sank as the reality of the situation began to dawn on me. Blood. The realisation hit me with the force of a physical blow, sending my mind reeling as I grappled with the implications.

"We can't stay here," the woman's voice cut through my shock, her tone urgent yet composed, as she gripped my shoulder.

Rooted to the spot, my eyes blurred with tears, I could only stare down at Duke, my vision distorted by the pain and confusion that threatened to overwhelm me. Each blink was a battle against the stinging in my eyes, both from the dust and the tears that I fought to hold back.

"It's not safe," the woman reiterated, her voice cutting through the howling wind that seemed to protest our every moment. She tugged at my arm, her grip both reassuring and insistent, guiding me through the tempestuous night.

Half-walking, half-staggering under the burden of my emotions and the physical weight of Duke in my arms, I found myself alternating between navigating the uneven ground and casting frantic, worried glances at him. The feel of his shallow breaths against my arm was a constant reminder of the urgency of our situation.

As we approached the campfire, the reality I had been dreading began to materialise before my eyes. The warm, flickering glow of the fire, meant to be a source of comfort and safety, instead cast a harsh light on the grim reality. The blood that I had felt warm and sticky on my skin was now visibly painting my arms red, a stark contrast against the night, staining my chest with a vivid reminder of Duke's suffering.

"Help me!" The plea tore from my throat, raw and laden with desperation. It was more than a call for physical assistance; it was a cry that carried with it the weight of my fear, the depth of my concern for Duke, and the overwhelming sense of helplessness that had engulfed me since the moment I realised he was injured.

"Jamie! What's happened?" Karen's voice pierced the panic swirling within me, her words pulling me back to the present, to the dire reality we were facing.

My legs, once steadfast pillars of strength, suddenly felt as if they were made of nothing more substantial than jelly. The enormity of Duke's plight, the fear, the uncertainty, it all converged in a single moment, buckling my knees under the weight of our predicament. The ground seemed to rush up to meet me, a fall that felt both inevitable and symbolic of the collapse of hope.

"I've got you," Chris's voice was steady, a solid presence as his arms wrapped around me, preventing the fall. His quick reflexes and the warmth of his grasp provided a fleeting sense of stability.

As Karen gently took Duke from my trembling arms, the mysterious woman who had guided us back began to deliver a grim prognosis. "The creature's wounds are serious. He has lost a lot of blood," she said, her tone clinical. Karen's gasp was a sharp echo of my own heart sinking, a physical manifestation of the despair that clenched my chest.

The woman then turned to me, her gaze piercing through the fog of my despair. "There's nothing you can do for him now." Her words, meant to be a form of release, instead felt like a shackle, binding me to a reality I was desperate to escape from.

"Duke," I cried, the sound tearing from my throat as tears blazed hot trails down my cheeks. The physical act of breaking free from Chris's supportive embrace to retrieve Duke was both a defiance and a surrender. Wrapping him tightly in my arms, I whispered, "The lagoon," clinging to the thread of hope that perhaps, against all odds, salvation could be found there.

"It's too dangerous. What's out there will smell the blood and most certainly attack again," the woman cautioned, her words painting a vivid picture of the danger that lay in wait. "I can't protect you out there." Her refusal, while rooted in pragmatism, felt like another door slamming shut, leaving us cornered by fate.

The sudden commotion from the direction of the Portal ripped through the tension, a stark reminder that our ordeal was far from over. "Your friends need help," the woman stated, a call to action that seemed to galvanise her. In an instant, she was off, her movements fluid and determined, an arrow in one hand, a bow in the other, with the quiver bouncing on her back as she ran towards the new threat.

As the chaos of the moment swirled around us, a singular focus took hold of me. The river, with its whispered promises of healing, seemed like the only beacon of hope in a night shrouded in despair. Seizing this moment of distraction, I began my careful trek toward the river, each step a mixture of determination and dread.

"Jamie," Karen's voice, laced with urgency, broke through my resolve as her firm hand clasped my shoulder, compelling me to halt and face her. Her eyes, filled with fear, mirrored the turmoil churning within me. "There's no time," she implored.

"The river has healed before. It can heal again," I countered, my voice a blend of hope and defiance. The memory of past miracles, of the river's mysterious power, ignited a flicker of hope within me. Turning away from Karen's piercing gaze, I continued my journey to the riverbank behind the tents, driven by a desperate belief in the possibility of salvation.

"Then I'm coming with you," Chris declared, his presence suddenly at my side, a large makeshift fire torch in his hand casting light and shadows on our path.

In that moment, my mind was not on who accompanied me. The urgency of Duke's condition, the gaping wound that marred his belly, eclipsed all else. It was a wound so severe, so life-threatening, that only a miracle could mend it. Karen was right; there was nothing anyone could do for Duke now—not in the conventional sense.

The reminder that cut through the despair like a beacon of light: Joel had no blood. This recollection, this proof of the impossible made real, fortified my resolve. It was a reminder of the extraordinary, of the unexplainable healing powers that this alien landscape held. With each step toward the river, this memory became my mantra, giving me the strength to believe in the possibility of another Clivilius miracle.

The weight of Duke in my arms, the softness of his fur against my skin, and the steady beat of my heart mingling with the distant sound of the river all merged into a single, focused determination. The journey to the riverbank, though short in distance, felt like a passage through a threshold of hope and fear, where the possibility of healing lay just beyond reach, waiting to be summoned once more.

As we reached the riverbank, the night air heavy with an impending sense of both dread and hope, Karen's steady presence by my side was a silent pillar of strength. With her support, I carefully made my way into the river, the cool water a sharp contrast to the warmth of my skin, a physical manifestation of the crossing from despair into a fragile hope.

"It's okay, Duke," I whispered tenderly, lowering his injured body into the healing embrace of the river. "You'll be okay." The words were a prayer, a plea to the unseen forces of Clivilius that had offered miracles before. Could they grant one more?

The fire torch, held steadfast by Chris, cast a flickering light that danced in Duke's eyes, lending a momentary sparkle to his gaze that mirrored the tumult of emotions within me. "I'm so sorry I couldn't protect you, Duke," I sobbed, my voice breaking under the weight of my guilt and sorrow. My hand, moving beneath his head to rub his ear gently, was a gesture of comfort, a silent apology for the pain he endured. The tears that fell from my eyes, mingling with his blood-soaked fur, were the physical embodiment of my heartache.

Then, a small movement against my palm—a glimmer of hope, a sign that perhaps, just perhaps, the river's magic was stirring once more. A silent prayer of thanks whispered through my mind to Clivilius, a moment of gratitude for the grace I believed was about to unfold.

A rough tongue against my wrist, a simple act of affection from Duke, brought a soft smile through my tears. I looked into his eyes, seeing there a reflection of all the love and trust that had defined our bond. Leaning in, I placed a gentle kiss on his head, a gesture of love and a silent promise that I was here, with him, no matter what.

But then, the unthinkable. Duke's shallow breath halted, his eyes slowly closed, and with them, a part of me shuttered. "No, Duke! No!" My cry was a raw expression of agony, a refusal to accept what my heart already knew. I shook his head gently, desperately willing him to wake, to come back from the brink.

The water around us erupted into chaos as Chris's firm hands wrapped around my shoulders, a futile attempt to offer solace. Karen's presence, her form blurred through my tears, became the bearer of the unbearable truth. Her words, though spoken in a frenzy, carried a finality that split my world in two. "I'm sorry, Jamie. Duke's gone."

In that moment, the profound grief that gripped me seemed to open the gates to a realm where the river itself whispered of solace, its waters gently beckoning me away from the piercing reality of Duke's loss. The darkness of my sorrow, thick and all-encompassing, wrapped around me like a shroud, pulling me deeper into its embrace. I allowed myself to sink beneath the surface, surrendering to the river's cold caress, where the cacophony of the world above was silenced, and the sharp edges of my pain were dulled.

Here, in the depths of this aqueous sanctuary, I found myself adrift with the ghosts of darkness, where the echoes of Duke's presence haunted the murky waters, a poignant reminder of the bond we shared, now severed by fate's cruel hand. The river, in its endless flow, became a refuge from the unbearable weight of a world without Duke.