The darkness was ominous. It sent all presence of life running away. But even in the deafening silence, ragged breaths echoed throughout the forest.

His heart pounds in his chest; he continues to run. He doesn't dare look behind him, knowing that if he does his fight is over.

He can't hear the uneven footsteps behind him over the pounding in his ears. His chest tightens in fear. He tries to move faster, but his feet won't respond.

He can's stop now.

He doesn't know how long he has been running for. He just knows that this can't be the night that he will die.

That is until he feels a blistering pain shoot up his lower leg. He yells out in pain, and he falls to the ground. He looks at his leg and sees a throwing knife sticking out of his calf.

He takes a deep breath. This isn't the end. He knows that running away won't save him now; he knows that his last chance of survival is to crawl. It may not be the fastest way back to the village, but he has no other choice. He knows that if he tries to hide, his chaser will find him before he is concealed in the darkness. Even if he was able to hide, he will bleed out before his chaser is far enough away for him to make it back to the village; it's clear that neither of them is giving up their fight.

He knows that he is running out of time; he starts crawling, trying to keep as much weight off his leg as possible.

The shink of blades sends a chill down his spine.

This is it. It's all over.

He has heard the stories. He just didn't think he would be part of one of them.    

The only thing he can see is the darkness of the night, and then nothing.