Running the Gauntlet - Part 2

The line of runners, additions upon their head, arms and belts become more a reality with each trot, are the only constant. They are permanent: Islands of reality unto themselves. No matter what trappings their guide attempts to drape onto them, there is a immutable reality to each soul. They are individuals. One might be able to find quite a bit of psychological comfort in that.
The run has gone on for quite a while. With nothing like a trustworthy sun or stars to tell the time, a focused mind might be able to tell just how long the group has been running through sheer smarty-pants. Ruby is starting to huff and puff like a bellows though. Her pits are soaking through with sweat and between her breasts is a rorschach blot of dampness. Relying on strength alone is only taking her so far.
It's telling of how far out they're going that it's taking this long to get there. She couldn't possibly be lost, could she? Maybe she's awful at shifting? Perhaps if mounted animals were involved this would be quicker? Now, every extra bit of encumberance is a hinderance. The sweat has gotten so bad that she's smearing sweat from her goggles and has to push them up atop her head and just let her eyebrows deal. "Don't...worry...Can't be mooch farther. You know't when we smell tha foul burnin..."

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