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Chapter Three: My Blood Runs Red

Everything was glaringly bright despite it being the middle of a cold weathered night. I wasn't wearing my armour, I favoured instead to have it neatly placed in my carry-on, as I could easily rid myself of my bags and put it on, but also not be given away by its gleam in the moonlight, and its constant clanking which always bothered me, deeply.

I was a total stealth nerd, if nothing else had been apparent, and not only had I perfected stealth technique, I also perfected finding flaws in others. Whenever you see the news reports of the fights with the runners and hunters doing stealth fights at night, they always seem to be trying so very hard to be baseline stealthy, yet fail miserably. I wouldn't be caught dead doing such stupid things. Though, I would. Survival is of the tactical kind of activities, why be so clueless in that field?

After steadying my body, I forced myself to try moving more. I was at a pace moderate enough that it would make little noise, yet get me quite far. Though despite my best attempts, the light wouldn't leave. I didn't deserve the peace of its departure anyways. The details were so fuzzy, and all I can remember is...the blood, and lack of reason.

Brutality and tactic was all my mind had processed at the time, and it was evident in how the emotions finally crashed down and emotional logic took hold. You could've spared him, you could've befriended him, you could've talked it out, you could've left, you could've kept the blood off your hands. Everything but killing is an option, yet I chose the worst of all. The one that I would feel life drain from my hands, and the most conscious of life at that.

I couldn't do it. I stopped in my tracks, the winds of night loud and telling. It felt as though my fear travelled with it, and I wondered if they could smell it too. Fear had a strong smell, and a feel. I knew fear well, like one knows a friend, but unlike a friend, when I look it in the eyes I see nothing but the worst.

After retreating deeper into the wilderness, the ferns finally almost as tall as me, I curled up on the moss. It was cold, but dry. Soft, but stiff. Not the ideal place for most to rest, but to me this was the best bed. I felt more in tune with nature than evidentially most village folk. I felt safe among the fronds of the giant Osmundastrum cinnamomeum, delighted to see the rival. Back when I was stationary I had one, and I'd constantly compare our height. Now I was taller than their tallest height...

It must be quite the rainy area here, I'd appreciate a muffler. My body was in a state of wishing to sleep, but being so good at resisting it wouldn't allow this abnormality. All I could do was watch my breath move the fronds and, rest. At least the pain should waver; then I can focus on the other things that pain my brain.

Rolling onto my side, I unsheathed the beautiful knife. As a blacksmith myself, I knew how lovely it truly was. There were no impurities, and the blade was sharpened to perfection, not a dent or scratch in sight. Marvelling in it's beauty, I didn't know what to do. I'd just done such a horrible act that crawled up and maimed me by the neck, weakness put forth into the world.

I coughed and sputtered as a panic attack seized me, and I quickly sheathed the knife once more. Everything had a growing pain, my body unable to handle what I'd done. Why was this so special feeling anyhow..? I allowed myself to collapse again atop the moss, my eyes never closing, but my body was essentially as gone as the wind.

└──═━𝔗𝔦𝔪𝔢 𝔓𝔞𝔰𝔰𝔢𝔰━═──┘

The road ahead looked really unappealing, and staying at the edge of the forest seemed like a calling that would drag me to my true home. I loved the long winding trail that lead me out of the mountains, and I surely was ahead. I hadn't even seen them from the tops! It was a true miracle, I was being graced and had no doubts this was so.