They ran for about three minutes.
Then Zhāo Yàn's ribs made a compelling argument for stopping, and he stopped, grabbing a tree with both hands and breathing in a way that was not dignified but was necessary.
Han Shān stopped beside him. His ears were still flat. His white fur was standing in several directions that fur was not supposed to stand. He was breathing hard.
They looked at each other.
They looked back at the hole.
The snake had not followed them.
What had followed them was the sound, a long, loud, elaborate sound that started as a hiss and became something else entirely.
Something that was, if Zhāo Yàn was being honest with himself, remarkably similar to a yawn.
The biggest yawn he had ever heard.
It went on for quite some time.
Then silence.
