Wisescarab

They're coming closer. The long fingers of the midday sun tear through the black leaves of the forest canopy and bear down miserably upon Tyleth. None shall call him friend again. If he believed otherwise, the young elf could just look at his arrow pierced shoulder to reaffirm the truth at hand. Thump, Tha-thump, Thump , the drumming grows louder, snatching his breath and dragging him on through limb and leaf. They are almost upon him; Tyleth can hear their footsteps crashing through the tangled undergrowth! Thump, Thump, faster! Tha-thump, thump, stop! Crash! Limbs snap , and crackle in the chaos of his fall. Sweat, dark and red, ...