Witch

The Capture

He ran. The black night engulfed him, seeming to swallow him as his feet hit the ground. His breath was a collection of gasps and gulps, but this did not stop him from throwing himself onward. He heard yelling from behind him, some of the words calling for him to come back, some screaming for him to be caught. He refused to turn his head, knowing that if he looked back he risked being captured. His short blonde hair fluttered back and away from his forehead, the shadows casting an eerie effect over his neck and back, the patterns making it look as though he was shimmering. His cloak flew behind him, catching and snapping loudly in the air. He heard the incoming pounding of horse hooves and knew if he didn't find cover soon he would be caught.

He sent looks to his left, where there was tall grass for a span of twenty paces before the trees of a forest erupted from the earth. He jumped into the grasses and ran diagonally, bending his knees and lifting his legs high above the grasses. He heard the ambushing horse riders call out about his change in direction. Finally he broke out and into the forest, the roots reaching out and becoming hazardous. He strategically jumped and stepped so that his feet weren't landing on the roots. As he moved further into the heart of the forest he took a second to glance over his shoulder. The men with horses were having difficulty with the grasses and the tightly woven tree line. However, the men on foot and their bloodhounds were not stopped by these obstacles, merely delayed. He started to run again, not paying as close attention to his feet as he was to speed. It was after thirty seconds of this that his foot landed on the side of a protruding tree root and twisted. He bit back a yell as he lurched sideways and hit the tree that the root belonged to, lifting his ankle up as he slid his side down the trunk and curled forward. He hoped he had gotten far enough into the forest that he would be hidden, but he knew that it was far too optimistic of a thought. Most likely the bloodhounds would find him if he didn't move soon.

He bit his lip to brace himself as he stood up, putting a light amount of weight on his ankle. He let out a small, muffled scream as an unexpected amount of pain shot up from his ankle and seemed to grip his entire leg in harsh agony. He gritted his teeth and fell to the ground, gasps of withheld screams escaping his mouth every now and then. He knew, at that point, that he would no longer be able to keep going. The smallest amount of pressure on his ankle and the pain became unbearable.

He could only hope that the bloodhound's teeth wouldn't rip at his skin too much.

He pulled himself into the shadows of the nearest tree, arranging his cloak so that it helped him blend in with the tree trunk his back rested against. His ankle was definitely twisted or sprained, and there was even a chance that it was broken or fractured. He looked around and began to rub fallen leaves on his cloak, his face and his clothes, doing everything possible to erase his scent.

As he did this he heard the sniffing of a dog nearby. He tensed his body, not making a single noise. However, a blood-curling howl was hurled into the night air, and he pulled his knees up to his chest, bracing for the inevitable. He tucked his head down and wrapped his arms around his legs.

It was only a few moments before he heard a deep, guttural growling. He refused to move, knowing that any sign of movement would cause the dog to attack. This dog had not been trained to wait, however. Soon he felt razor-sharp teeth digging into his shoulder, knowing at that point his cloak and shirt were not going to survive the night without becoming shreds. The first bite lasted only a few seconds before the dog released its jaw from his arm and dug its teeth into his shoulder again. It only took the dog biting him six bites before it started shaking his flesh between its teeth.

The howl seemed to have signaled the entire group of witch hunters, seeing as more dogs joined the first and began participating in the process of trying to dispatch as much skin and flesh from his arms and legs as possible. Finally, when a few of the dogs owners had reached where he sat and had gotten tired of watching blood fly from the hunched figure, they dragged the dogs off of him. The leader of the group of witch hunters approached the man slowly, watching his tucked head carefully for any sign of movement. The hunter's hand shot out from their cloak and grabbed his blood soaked shoulder, viciously throwing him toward the ground. Defeated, he laid without any sign of protest, his energy had been drained. His hands were chained behind his back and he was forced onto his feet. He did not withhold his yell of pain, but no one cared enough to worry if he was hurt. After all, he was scheduled to die as soon as they reached the city boundary. No one supported him, forcing him to painfully limp over the uneven ground.

It was a long and painful trek, and as they entered the streets of the city, people stopped what they were doing and watched as the discovered witch came through. He lifted his head up only when he passed where his home was... or, had been. He was sure that he would never go home again. There it was he saw his brothers.

They met his gaze and he knew, at that point, that they understood that he would never be coming home. His brother that was closer to his age shook his head slowly, not able to believe the scene. He began to move forward and entered the street only to be hit and pushed away. "L-Lukas! How can they be doing this to you?" His brother called out, but the condemned boy knew better than to respond. He tore his eyes away from his brother's and returned it to its original forward-facing hanging position. The other citizens were not as sympathetic to him. He didn't understand what he had done to deserve to be treated like this. They screeched foul names at him and some threw water, waste and bits of garbage at him. Thankfully, once he was put in his cell for the night he was able to escape the citizens, but the handcuffs remained on his wrists, causing the skin near them to become irritated and peel. He sighed as the door shut, staring at the wall opposite of where he sat. Honestly, what had he done? He shrugged, not really caring; knowing that no matter what he did there was no escaping his fate. He tilted his head back and rested it against the wall, shutting his dark blue eyes. Since there was not much left to do other than brood or sleep, he found the second option much more desirable than the first, and thus let sleep steal his consciousness.