Near lingers death

forward, through the storm

༻✧༺

Before he realizes it, he's running. The snow crunches underneath his boots, almost loud enough to drown out his rapid heartbeat. The frigid air hurts his lungs, each breath burns his throat and makes him feel like he's swallowing needles. Yet he cannot stop. 

It is run or die. 

The fear keeps him going and the adrenaline makes him ignore the cold bite of winter on his skin. 

He can't hear his pursuers and he doesn't dare look over his shoulder in fear of stumbling, but there is not a doubt in his mind, they are right behind him. Their eyes burn holes into his coat. 

Run. Run. Run.

He doesn't want to die. Not like this, not yet. This wasn't what he had imagined when he'd left the warm safety of his home in the middle of the night. He had planned on leaving quietly and just wandering the forest until he found a place to stay overnight.

Suddenly, his foot catches on a root. He blinks and his face is only centimeters away from the snow. He had fallen. 

Panic strikes him. Hurriedly he tries standing up, but the snow makes it hard. His hands slip out from under him and the root is tangled around his boot, seemingly unwilling to let him go. 

"Ah.", he lets out. His foot doesn't move no matter how much he pulls and tears. His movement quickly grows frantic. 

He still can't see them, but he knows they're drawing closer with each passing second.

It's almost like he can hear the steady drip of  their saliva as it pools around their fangs.

Then, suddenly, he remembers. With a shake of his shoulders, he gets his backpack off of him and rips it open. 

He had taken a dagger with him, just in case anything would happen. But looking at it now it is more of a knife rather than a dagger. 

No matter, the blade is sharp enough to cut through the root regardless.

Finally, his foot is free. He shoves the dagger back into its sheath, throws his backpack over one shoulder and runs. 

His feet slip a few times before he finds secure footing. He grits his teeth so hard his jaw gives off a protesting crack.

The wind picks up then, it's howling through the trees and pushing snowflakes into his face. 

If his vision had been bad before, now he can barely make out the shape of a branch right in front of his face.

With frozen fingers he pulls the furred hood of his coat deeper into his face. It won't shield him from the stormy onslaught but at least it preserves a little bit of the warmth left in his body.

And there, in the middle of this snowy forest, Ajax misses his parents. He thinks back to his warm house, the smiles of his siblings and has to fight back tears.

Come on, you're not a crybaby! You're here because you're proving it to everyone.

The little moisture leaving his eyes freezes in an instant. His face feels uncomfortable.

He doesn't see it coming.

One moment he's running, paying attention to his footing to avoid falling again, the next something tackles him from behind. 

He can feel strong legs on his back, pushing him down and into the snow. The growls are awfully loud in his ears. 

It's tearing at his coat, biting his sleeve and ripping it off.