All of a sudden, the feeling of malaise doesn't bother Cerberus so much, for he has found purpose.

Cerberus knows now that he must feed. Hunger for flesh, no, for suffering, distracts him from any rational thought.

These little ones, he knows, will not do. He needs to find that pain he can smell. He needs to have it. Consume it.

Up there. He runs with vigor he thought he had lost, his three shacle-lines whipping accross the earth.

Closer now, Cerberus puts on his best attack face.

The large, bearded one. That's the one. Cerberus snarls loudly.

Cerberus opens two pairs of jaws as far as they will go. Saliva, picked up by the wind, trails behind him.