Melodrama had been the driving force for the longest time in Jethro's life, as his day to day struggle consisted of tending to the coarse grain on his aunt's squalid farm plots, and learning the basics of reading and calligraphy -- a lost art these days. It was only natural that Jethro's mind gave into to flights of fancy, and wove intricate tales of the world around him. The droughts suddenly became the wrath of vengeful elder gods, the howling in the distance became the mournful cries of the damned. Every nuance of life was given a fantastical purpose and origin, save for the occasional marauder raids. Jethro couldn't bring  himself to fabricate little stories about them. Death as it turns out, was quite a deterrent for Jethro's imagination. The suffering felt by fellow man took him right out of the fantasies he had worked so hard to weave. As one can imagine, in such violent times as these, Jethro couldn't afford to drift away and escape the pains of life. Despite all of this, Jethro couldn't help himself  as he imagine little black faeries, dancing about the darkened pines like woodsy maypoles.

Jethro continued to dream as he weaved his way through the woods,  ducking past low hanging boughs as he went. The smell of resin-lathered needles filled his nostrils and suddenly, it didn't seem all that bad. In an instant, he'd forgotten why he had wanted to run in the first place. Childlike glee coursed through him as he went, traipsing through the forest in bare feet. He was at peace here, perhaps for the first time in awhile. The struggles of life couldn't reach him in here, even his argument with his aunt seemed to fade from his mind. The faeries multiplied in number the deeper he ran into the forest. One playfully tapped his brow, and took off giggling into the heart of the woods. Jethro wouldn't let this cheeky little fairy get the best of him! Grinning from ear to ear, he sped up, and followed the faerie. Quick on his heels, he gradually began to catch up with the little jester. The faerie bobbed through trees unevenly, but Jethro was in pursuit. Save for a stray branch striking him across the face, Jethro didn't miss a beat as he stalked this faerie deeper and deeper into the wood. The faerie began to grow desperate as it noticed that Jethro was closing the distance at an alarming speed. It could practically feel his breath across it's wings. Seeing no other way out, the faerie dove under a fallen tree up ahead, hoping that Jethro wasn't foolish enough to go after it. The faerie was mistaken. Caught up in the moment, Jethro watched the faerie's attempt at escape and chose to leap over the tree which could have easily been at the very least, twice his size. Jethro soared through the air but quickly realized his err, as he noticed that he didn't quite manage to clear the jump. The spoke-like branches of the fallen pine approached him faster than he could have ever imagined, and collided with him with a bone-jarring thud, sending him sprawling back to the forest floor. The world began to spin from where Jethro was laying. Everything from then on out was a blur, except for a familiar little glow flitting around his vision. It was the faerie! It had gotten worried about him, and went back to check if his was okay. Having no intention to play by the rules, Jethro smirked as his hand shot out and plucked the faerie straight from the air. His stomach knotted as his felt the tiny bones crush beneath his grip. His mouth went agape as he swore he could hear a tiny agonized held back by his fingers. He sat up from his position in the dirt and hesitantly opened his fingers as he stared into his palm. Instead of a grisly scene of blood and torment, Jethro's worried gaze was only met with a tiny mote of ash. Jethro looked around him, expecting to see traumatized faeries all around him, but saw only falling tufts of ash. 

Jethro shakily rose up from the forest floor dazed and confused. His brow furrowed with worry as he tried to make out what had just happened. Upon standing, it didn't take him long to notice that forest morphed into a charred mockery of itself. The air was thick was ash. He coughed as he breathed in deep in an attempt to find at least a lingering aroma of the resin from before. The pines all around him were charred and black, staining his feet with ash as he walked. This wasn't the forest he remembered, and he certainly didn't feel safe here. Jethro crossed his arms as he began to shiver. The sun had been swallowed by the pines, and only the cold glow of the moon was left to warm his back. He continued his trek into the woods, solemnly ambling about. He was surprised at how quickly his mood had managed to darken, and even more surprised as he realized something else. He tried to ignore it as he traveled through the woods, but as he continued to walk, finding familiar bare footprints as he went, he realized that he'd have to face the facts eventually. In the wake of his faerie induced stupor, he had managed to get himself lost in the woods. Jethro didn't know the specifics of the world he inhabited, but he knew that one did not want to find themselves out in the dark, especially not in the woods. The once jovial forests has mutated into something far more sinister. Jethro eyed the trees nervously as he walked, for the seemed to want to eat him alive. He began to imagine their whispers. They begged and pleaded with him, asking him to do unspeakable things for their own amusement. Sweat beaded on his brow. 

Should I go on? He thought to himself. He almost expected an answer, but the only thing he could hear was the sound of his own heartbeat, reverberating throughout him. Doubts clouded his mind as second thoughts flit through his mind.

What if she never shows? What kind of location is 'neath the pines anyway? That's so terrible! She's terrible for leading me into this! Why did I listen?!

The thought of legging it back home seamed more and more pleasant as time passed. A warm hearth-fire was preferable to dying out in the woods, even if it meant bearing with a seething aunt.

"What happened to your bravery, boy?" cried another voice from within. Jethro didn't recognize this voice. Fear wracked his mind as he wondered if the trees really started to speak with him. He stopped dead in his tracks, and looked around, nervously searching for the origin of the voice. Much to his chagrin, all he had managed to see was the endless see of blackened husks around him. Jethro wanted to stay there for eternity, but an unearthly cry from somewhere deep in the woods spurred him on.  Jethro wasn't particularly brave, but he wasn't going to let himself be devoured because he'd refused to move. This pattern of thinking was what had helped Jethro keep moving. It helped him forget the growing numbness in his feet as frost nipped at his toes. He wasn't as lucky with the whispers however, as they grew more and more macabre as he marched on. Time itself seemed to bend at the whims of the woods. Jethro had no idea how long he'd been walking for. It had felt like aeons had passed, though in reality it very well may have been but a few minutes. Just when he thought that he couldn't get any more miserable, he noticed something skitter about, just outside of his peripherals. At that very instant, the forest fell silent.

Jethro swung about, expecting to be greeting by a fallen branch or something equally as mundane, but was met with only burned-out trees. Jethro almost wished for the whispering to return, for this, despite it's silence, seemed to have a much more immediate threat. Steeling his nerves, he reached down to the soot-laden floor of the forest, and felt around for something solid. After a few seconds of blind grasping, his hands stumbled upon a sturdy rock, heaves as it was solid. With a quiet grunt, his hefted it up, and held it in a vaguely threatening manner. He stood there, hands quivering from both fear and the weight of the stone as he watched the woods, completely unblinking. One second passed, then another, followed by another. The forest remained still. As more and more time passed by, Jethro started to lower the stone as he realized that perhaps the woods was just getting the better of him. He had just began to drop the rock when he heard that unmistakable sound. Branches breaking, just behind him. Jethro screamed, and in a act of blind hatred, he swung around, stone in tow.

"Gods above, you're really jumpy tonight!" Shouted a familiar voice, far too late.

Jethro wanted to stop, he really did, but momentum finished the job and as he turned about, he heard a dull thud and the sound of something hitting the ground.

Jethro wanted to scream.