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Pounding through the undergrowth towards the first slice of sun plateauing over the hills in the distance, trying desperately to make up ground. The fiery sliver of light marked the dawn, one that would find the those retched machines simulated fury once they found out what Deogie had managed to pilfer while they slept their electric sleep. No time though, for him to pause and revel in his success, in his spirited escape from that menacing compound he had tripped an alarm and it wouldn't be long before they were trailing him. Robots, androids, cyborgs, machines... just gears and metal for all he cared. His mission only required that he transport this unwieldy grail, then he'd be off the list till the next full moon. That damn list cast a indomitable shadow over what was left of his meager life since the Masters disappeared. Glancing ahead on the trail he spotted his carefully camouflaged escape root further up, "Lets see the bastards try and follow me through here" he spat, turning into the ferocious looking thorn bramble to his left. The briers immediately tearing through the soft skin on his muzzle as he plunged into the thicket. Beads of hot, sticky blood began to slide into the cracks of his lips, the iron tang quickly diffusing through his entire mouth, the taste arousing his senses. Just a mile or two more of this hell and he'd be safely out of their range. That was one advantage that his kin had over those monsters, they were free to roam over whatever land they could put under their roaming paws, their four legs beating out the rhythm of the pack. Leashes were no longer for his kind to bear. An abrupt jerk reminded him of the burden bound behind him that had been slowing his pace. Now the twisted knots of thorns were tightening around him and proving to be a bigger barrier than he had thought, progress would be slow, but this route would allow him to bypass the trees. A tendril of terror began creeping from his tail slowly up his spine just at the thought of those horrors, Dog knows you didn't want to venture into the bots twisted versions of a forests.
They claim to be recreating utopia for when the humans return, and I'm sure in their minds they were succeeding, but those horrid pillars only stood to mock the beauty of those they are modeled after. A trunk, if you can call it that, perfectly smooth accept for the wart-like sensory nodes placed at distance, from top to bottom. The monolith rises up from the barren earth about 10 danes high to intersect, at its peak, a flurry of florescent green leaves, lacking in any sort of organic design. Instead they were the shape of those metal demons teeth, angular razors made for slicing and cutting. Venture to close to one of its hundreds of electric eyes and be ready to run, or part with your hide. Deogie had learned this lesson all to well on his last suicide run, the scars running from scalp to hind flank were the signatures of those unflinching wards. In a way though, it was almost endearing to see their painstaking effort in melding these "Trees" to be both a garden for their masters and sentry against their foes, but there was a intangible subtlety the mighty old ones held that these monsters can't even begin to imitate.
Shaking the thoughts of those deadly synthetic pylons from his mind, Deogie began the last few meters through the brier thicket. Once on the other side it was only a short dash to the perimeter where those bastards wouldn't venture, unless they dare to risk breaking the invisible thread that ties them umbilicaly to their hive mind. the king of the demons. A glimmer of blazing sunlight cut like a machete through the gloomy thicket, urging Deogie on, with one explosive push of his back legs he found himself suddenly released from the clawing grip of the bramble. A sense of relief washed over him as struggled free, he laid for a short while, covered in blood and bits of stubborn brier tangled in his coat, panting in an effort to regain his breath. "Just a throw of a bone from here" he uttered reassuringly to himself, and as he stood to walk away he realized that the evil mess of cruel vegetation behind him has yet to relinquish its grip on his bulky, cumbersome, plunder. What his alphas of the clan wanted with this glorified, glittering dog bowl, he could only guess, tradition had become so very important to them as their situation deteriorated. Wrenching at the lashings that bound the trophy to himself, Deogie tried desperately to free the troublesome object. After several fruitless minutes, feeling overwhelmed fatigue, he sat to rest, cursing the damned anchor that was going to end up being his tombstone. He aimed a swift kick at the nuisance out of frustration and it responded by sounding a high-pitched ring peeling out of it's dome shaped top, racing through the forest, followed immediately, like the bells eerie echo by the smooth, oiled sounds of mechanical limbs coming to life.
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