The Chase Run.More Like This
Cold, damp air seeps through skin to bone. Soil stained soles pound along a winding, barely-there path among the trees. Trees. A laughable word for behemoths that, at the smallest, is four times as wide around as she is. Swaths of leaves shape a dark green expanse, blocking out nearly all of the sky. The light that does find a way down is weak, pinpricks suffocating in the umbrage. This is a true weald, dark and deep.
She wishes she could deviate from the path; delve into the endless shadow and hide. A ruinous wish. Thin strings threaded with countless trinkets crisscross all empty spaces. This is old magic, learned from the spiders to catch those that stray. One step, one trip, one stumble off of the path is certain death.
The wind kicks up, sending a song si