Heroes and Wolves [book 1]

Chapter one

Layla

My legs ache with the burn of constant use. Damn this feeling, damn this forest. The thick bark of each tree blurs as I pass them. My vision for the path ahead is hampered by the limited sunlight that breaks through the dense layered branches, but I keep going. I have got to keep moving even if the burning in my legs urge me to stop and rest. I have to push myself away from the growls and glowing coloured orbs - The yellow and red orbs. 

Sticks snap with every footstep. The uneven ground makes it hard to keep a quick pace up, but the coloured orbs are right behind me which is my only motivation to carry on moving in any way, shape or form. I'm slowing down though. My breath is shallow and my lungs match the searing pain encompassing my legs. I stay focused on the dark path in front of me, jumping over an arched and protruding tree root which I'm glad my feet don't get caught on, but it wouldn't be the first time. Light shines ahead, acting as a bright beacon of safety and familiarity so I lock onto it and use the remaining bits of energy to emerge out of the woods and to an open clearing. Home.

++++++++++++++++

Standing on steady grass instead of dirt, I'm able to rest. Fresh oxygen extinguishes the flames in my legs and lungs and calms me down. I watch the yellow orbs disappear into the bleak abyss of the forest, never breaching the darkness which I'm glad for. I'm also relieved that the red orbs never showed because they carry more with them in terms of fear. My fear. It's ironic how a solo pair of red orbs can spark more anxiety and cause my heart to quake compared to a cluster of yellow orbs but it does. The red orbs are harsh and the thundering growls that follow make a demonic combination. 

These orbs plague my everyday life. They even haunt me in my sleep. I'm nearly always waking up with a jolt. I don't know the cause of them but it might just be my mind tricking me because I have been here so long or its lack of sleep and I'm hallucinating. I've found that these nightmares always seem to occur on full moons. I mean, I'm no believer in the supernatural with werewolves, ghosts or vampires to name a few. Reading countless books has given me enough information to justify that they do not exist. It's just that around the days leading up to a full moon or when the night has fallen to one, there's a feeling within me, like some sort of force trying to get out and I don't know what it is. 

I can't peel my gaze away from the forest. I'm studying every tree to make sure that the yellow orbs never resurface again. This is a force of habit that has been engraved into me since the orbs started to appear two years ago. After a few more minutes, nothing changes so I decide it's clear to leave. I head towards the centre of the clearing and reach my house. Well, I wouldn't call an odd, differently shaped and coloured shed a house; it's a wooden shack, but I've called it home for some time

Stepping up onto the wooden decking that acts as a porch, with two large beams on either side to support the triangular roof, all thoughts of not tripping upon something today have evaporated as I do just that. Damn wood. I create a mental note to fix the wobbly plank of wood and add it to the ongoing maintenance list on my shack which includes replacing any rusty nails and repairing the holes within the floor. These tasks are constant and take up most of my time during the day but it keeps me occupied and distracts me from the forest that circles me.

I breathe out heavily bored and frustrated. I keep thinking about how I ended up here, in a shack, surrounded by a forest and I always remember how but I change the answer, to stop the reality from setting into place. I hate the truth of it, so I alter it. There's nothing wrong with that? Is there?

I really shouldn't have chosen to live surrounded by a forest but I couldn't go back. I didn't want to go back. I have just got out of my old home, well 'just got out' really means 'ran out' from it but this change makes the time span seem shorter than what it actually is. All the alterations make me forget the length of time, but in the depths of my brain somewhere the real answer lurks and I never want it to resurface for me to remember. It's the same with the reasons why I left. I don't dwell on them as it makes the baggage of my life less heavy. I focus on my future, what I do day by day and how to survive.

The memory of the day I left my old home is the only thing I keep valid. I stole from it and walked for hours, trying to find cover from the pouring rain. I was cold, soaked and didn't know where I was going until I reached these woods. Something inside me urged to venture through them, it was like instinct was telling me to do so and I did. I found this clearing and a half-dismantled shack which I used to shelter from the rain until it passed. I didn't know then that it would become my home but I was never going back, that's for sure.

The next morning, I explored and started to gather resources. That's all I did for the next couple of days, then the days turned into weeks, months and years... I rebuilt my shack into what it is today -My home of such time. I was glad and grateful for what I scavenged - sometimes buying or stealing things from local stores. I am a good person, it's just that on bad days when money was limited, I had to do it. I had to put myself first to survive but when I got the money to pay them back, I did. Taking things from the local dump was a tactical effort. I went there with the same scenario of sometimes paying and sometimes not because what I found was worthless anyway or that I just ran from the guards, sneaking objects up my sleeve and I got away with it.