Cloaked in Shadows

Chapter 1: A Figure in Black

The boar charged. He lifted his bow carefully and pressed the shaft of the arrow against his cheek. He breathed in, deeply, lost in the power of the moment. He was the longbow, and the longbow was him. A small voice at the back of his mind urged him to shoot. Frantically, it told him that he only had time to loose a single arrow before the boar took him in the gut. He pushed the voice away. He was the arrow, and the arrow was him. He let go, and just as he did a drop of sweat fell from his brow and into his eye, and he blinked vigorously. The damage was already done: There was a faint TWANG, and the arrow shot through the air towards the boar, missing it's eye completely and hitting a nearby trunk. He cursed silently and raised his bow, but he knew he had no more time. 

It was far, far too late to run. He tensed, unsheathing a small dagger at his side, but suddenly a figure emerged from the tree to the right, swinging a single-edged axe above his head. The axe took the boar's head in a single swing, and the boar's head rolled to the ground in a pool of its own blood. The headless trunk convulged once, twice, before going still. He shivered inwardly, despite himself. He wasn't scared of the boar, or the fact that it was killed; he had been doing this for the better part of his teenage years. No, he was shaky because of how close to death he had been, he shook his head, wiping his brow, and stepped forward to thank his saviour. 

There was no one there. 

The wind tickled the tree trunks, caressing its branches and blowing his hair onto his face. He hastily moved it from his eyes, looking about him, spinning in a circle, eyes searching for a hint of the figure. He stepped up to where he had attacked, but found no prints, no snapped twigs; no signs that anyone had been standing there mere moments ago. 

He shivered again, harder this time. He slung the longbow across his back, and crouched down beside the fallen pig. He gathered some ropes from his bags and hung the pig from a tree, draining it of blood, before slinging it across his shoulder, preparing for the trek back home.  

He felt an itch between his shoulder blades and slowly turned around. He started. 

In the near distance, a figure cloaked in black stood watching him, head covered by an executioner's mask. Something looked odd about him. 

Something that chilled him to the bone. 

Awkwardly, he raised his hand to the figure. "You have my thanks for my life!" He shouted to the figure, walking up to him. "That was a close one!" He laughed mirthlessly, when suddenly he realized what was quite off about this...figure. 

The wind wasn't affecting him at all. 

The wind buffeted his hair onto his face, tugging at his clothes and whipping his hair into a frenzy. However the figure stood before him as if in a spring breeze, not quite of this world. 

This time, the shivers turned to trembles. 

He closed his eyes, and reopened them, but it was still there. Regarding him through the holes where his eyes should be. 

The holes of darkness. 

"O-okay, i must take my leave..." He said, more to himself than to...whatever it was that was watching him. "I...i shall just.. Right." He turned around, but the itch between his shoulder blades turned to a sharp pain, and he spun around to find nothing behind him. He almost cried out. 

Was he taking leave of his senses? 

He continued on, his heart racing and trembled working his way all across his body. The sun was setting in the distance, casting the forest into a gloomy twilight. The sky - or what could be seen between the cover of the pine, sourgum, and leatherleaf trees that covered this sea of green - was orange and terracotta, a kaleidoscope of reds and browns.