He is nowhere to be seen. Good. I told him to hide, I would have been more worried if he had been sitting in the middle of the grass waiting for me. I quietly call his name but still there’s no reply. That’s more worrying.
I quickly scan the area; no peculiar forest boys make themselves apparent. Thankfully I’ve been out with Randall a few times and my eyes pick up tracks and broken branches. My heart quickens. On the edge of the clearing one of the bushes has clearly been charged through, broken berries staining the grass below. I take off in rapid pursuit, eyes fixed ahead ready for any threats.
The soil slowly gets damper and visible footprints begin to paint my path as I near one of the many nearby streams regularly used for fish trapping. I can hear running water now...and grunting.
I break through one last patch of thorns and tumble sprawling onto the riverbank, the waterskin and bread flying out from beneath my arms. I turn to see what tripped me and find Landen. He lay whimpering with his head propped against the base of an oak, cradling a clearly useless arm. Through eyes clouded by pain I am shot a look of pure hatred, but thankfully he poses no threat to me in his current position. Still, it takes a second to get over the shock of seeing him here, not only because of his injury but I’m also surprised he’d risk Becker’s wrath.
Further splashes and grunts force my attention back to the stream. Guy is balancing on the rocks on the edge of the water, being cornered back by Rhys and Harvey. Rhys forces Harvey to approach first, whose apprehension towards his considerably taller adversary is rewarded with a strong kick to the sternum. He flies backwards, tumbling into a patch of rushes.
Rhys takes his opportunity, tackling Guy around the waist and using his weight to take them both to the shallow riverbed. Guy, considerably nimbler than the fat-laden boy grappling him, has disentangled himself and is on his feet with a small rock in his fist before the bully has a chance to raise his arms.
“STOP!” I scream, and Guy pauses, his murderous intent momentarily turned towards me before relief and recognition visibly floods through him. Sense and humanity restore behind his eyes. The arm slowly drops to one side and the rock tumbles out of a now soft grip with a gentle splash.
He doubles over.
A sharp upward blow has knocked the wind from him as Rhys rises and kicks him onto his back. I dart forwards as Rhys’ foot connects with Guy’s head, sending it rocketing towards another rock on the bank. Forgetting my size and that of the opponent before me I charge Rhys, aiming a shoulder into his gut.
Meaty fists grab my shirt and hurl me forwards, using what little momentum I had against me. Spluttering, I pick myself out of the bank, my blood tainting the water around my knees. Rhys stands there panting, preparing to begin his next assault. Harvey, who has impressively managed to rise after Guy’s strike, shouts his support from behind but makes no move to join Rhys’s side.
Guy stirs feebly in the mud, shock struggling through dim eyes. A worrying amount of scarlet surrounds his pale face, leaking from a nasty gash on his forehead and joining a small trickle coming from the corner of his mouth. A few of his newly healed cuts have also reopened, their scabs having been scraped off in the brawl.
A bloated face of cold fury approaches me, and then vanishes, replaced by pure fear. Rhys has stopped in his tracks, momentarily staring at some point above me before turning on one heel, losing his footing and almost snapping an ankle over the loose stones. He rushes for the greenery, barrelling into Harvey. Turning the shade of milk, Harvey follows suit, attempting to yank the still whimpering Landen after him as he passes, resulting in another scream of pain. Regardless Landen rises to his feet, wearing yet again the same expression as Rhys, and stumbles briefly before being swallowed by the forest.
I match his footsteps exactly; I’ve never been this deep into the forest before and everyone knows there are various traps hidden all over the place by the demons. Of course, upon seeing the stranger in front of me I have no idea what to believe.
It was a hunter who had scared off Rhys, a bald, topless, monstrous man covered in odd swirling tattoos and aged scars, he carries a bow in his left hand and has slung Guy, who almost instantly fell into unconsciousness, over his opposite shoulder. He carries the boy effortlessly, his pace unaffected by the extra weight.
I haven’t the faintest idea who he is, but I have no choice but to follow. I know I cannot just leave Guy and let his fate be dictated by this stranger.
Besides, the hunter could have easily killed us by now if he had wanted to, a small comfort but surely that’s got to count for something. Perhaps he’s a hunter for one of the neighbouring villages, he’s a little far from his own territory but it’s not uncommon for hunters to occasionally cross borders whilst getting carried away in the pursuit of some wild
