Free Black Flame by Gerelchimeg Blackcrane

twisted farther and went for his neck, forcing Kelsang to refrain from biting and shrug it off.
    They pulled apart and stood eyeing each other. The wolfhound was also clearly surprised to have encountered such a valiant challenger.
    A loud cracking sound. Everything, even the air, was shaking, and for a few moments Kelsang couldn’t hear anything. The flagstones around him split, sending flying splinters up his nose. This wasn’t the first time he had been deafened by such a sound. Back at the guesthouse, out on the grasslands, when he had been forced to fight those two dogs, a sound just like this one had rung out, killing one of them. He had been shocked by the vibration but hadn’t fully understood its power.
    Now he understood. He barked in anger. Where had the sound come from? Before he could determine the answer, there was another explosion right beside his head, and another slab of stone cracked open. Such an almighty force. The wolfhound clearly knew what was happening as it darted toward the shadows. Kelsang did the same, running out of the alley in the opposite direction.
    Another gun shot.
    When they realize that their time is up and the fear of death takes hold, most dogs will let out a howl that summons all their inner strength. It’s their only way to express their love of life. For the rest of his days Kelsang would tremble whenever he recalled this terrible sound.
    He stood in the shadows, the long hair on the back of his neck standing on end. The wolfhound had been hit squarely in the back but was still scrapping with its absent opponent under the streetlight. The gnashing of its teeth echoed around the alleyway like the sound of iron being filed. It looked like a giant squirming insect as it struggled to drag itself to the other side of the street using only its forelegs, its hind legs already paralyzed. Windows lit up along the alley as the howling woke its inhabitants.
    Kelsang believed that howl must have risen from the depths of hell itself. He was too scared to move from his corner. Another shot came whistling past.
    He couldn’t control the shaking that came from deep within him. Fear was eating away at his strength. He had to escape. If he waited any longer, he would be drowned by this sound, and that thought was more chilling than the coldest winter on the plateau. It was enough to make his heart burst.
    He started running, hiding in places where the light didn’t reach. If there had been anyone in his path, he would have bumped them out of the way. He had already rounded two corners, yet the sound was everywhere, ringing in his ears, driving him insane. He could only keep running.
    The howling wolfhound let out a cough that sounded like cloth tearing and then fell silent, as if it had suddenly fallen into deep water.
    Kelsang careered into the courtyard and plopped down on his mat. It smelled like he did, and it comforted him. He stared at the half-open door, panting heavily. The haunting sound hadn’t followed him, but still, once his breathing became calm, he decided to make sure. There was silence in the alley outside. It was empty. The light in the painter’s window was still on.
    Kelsang thought back to the events at the guesthouse and then thought about the last half hour. Guns were terrifying weapons, he concluded, with their smoke and devastatingly loud sounds. And they belonged to humans. A gun had taken away that dog’s life, but he had been lucky — the other bullet hadn’t got him.
    The next day, in a shop that sold sweetened Tibetan tea, a loquacious man bragged to his friends that he had almost shot a small black lion the night before. The lion had been fighting a stray. No one believed him, of course. The last time, he claimed he’d shot an elephant through the ear, all because the elephant had found nighttime in the holy city too boring and had gone for a walk.
    Kelsang stayed in the courtyard for the next few evenings, the events in the