Guythatnooneknows Has Opinions

He's stuck. Once again, he'd drawn his sword too early. It's raining outside. It never rains in Maklivelle Forest. A few years ago he never would have ventured into these forests alone, but the allure of the voices had found the key to the door of his curiosity. He'd drawn his sword too early and it had him, it was upon him. He had heard it following him, but wanted to forget that it was there, but now he couldn't ignore it. It was upon him, he took the wrong turn back at the fork and it knew it.

One hour earlier before it was even a forethought, he had come to the fork in the road. It made up some ground when he had waited at the fork and thought about which direction he should take. His hand lay limp upon the hilt of his sword as he glanced at the map and, alternatively, each direction. To the left he saw thorns and thislte branches, hounds of the helm, large rocks, covered boulders and a dark path. To the right, green meadows, sloping valleys, water (which he had on short supply), maybe a hunting ground of some sort. But for whatever reason, he had always chosen the path to the left before, and for some reason, he was drawn to it again. It wasn't shorter, it was by no means faster, but the voices had drawn him there each and every time.

This time was different though, different from all the rest, he knew it was there the whole time, he'd heard it tracking him from a distance. His hand gripped the hilt of his sword tightly, his other hand held his shield. He heard something behind him. Seventy yards behind him he judged. "Fuck," he stammered to himself, he'd not seen it, but he'd known it was there the whole time. Why didn't he take care of it when he'd first heard it. He could have covered his tracks, he could have taken the river to cover his scent. Closer. Brush and tree branches pushed aside as it approached. Out of the corner of his eyes he finally got a glimpse of it. Larger then he anticipated, and faster, it was closing in on him too fast, he couldn't react fast enough. Thirty yards. It was too quick, it had caught him before he turned. One choice left, he had to choose. Right or left, it was so simple, flip a coin, choose the trail out of the forest. He HAD to do it quick. Ten yards. It was upon him, he was losing time. Grasping his sword tightly, wearing the insignia from the hilt of his sword into his palm, sweat poured from his brow. He had one option left. Five yards, he could feel it's breath on his neck.

It had him in it's grasp, he had to choose.