Worn leather boots sank lightly into the soft moss, muffling the intruder’s movements, absorbing his presence. Lush green hues prevailed in this place; grey-green moss blanketed the numerous trunks of this dense forest like animal fur, countless leaves on sprawling trees blotted all sunlight save for precious green-yellow beams of light that sliced through the shadows and offered glimpses of this forest’s shrouded radiance. Deep green ferns whispered against legs clad in patched dark trousers as the intruder weaved deeper into the secrets of these woods. His dark countenance—a thin, lithe frame of underwhelming height clad in dark, thread-bare tunic, a moth-eaten cloak, and a snug, dark hood that masked every facial feature save for his eyes—moved like a dark wraith against the backdrop of ancient nature, clearly not belonging to such a wild place… but was he unwelcomed?

His heart hammered in his chest, a deafening sound despite the only one that could hear it, afraid that he would actually find what he came to seek and end up dying here. A small part of him, perhaps not too small, welcomed the possibility as he tried to ignore the sting of fresh rope burns around gloved wrists or the dull, throbbing ache of the bruises that battered his carefully concealed body. Better to be torn limb from limb by some fearsome monster in his effort to gain some power than to die as a victim, without any control of his own life, merely because of the color of his skin.

Still, it did not mean that he did not fear death or that he did not desire to live, however pathetic this life was. Not when he could exact vengeance on those that dared to maim him.

In the distance, a twig snapped, the soft sound like an explosion in this eerily quiet place. Forests usually teemed with noise, with the business of life, but it was as though this place was holding its breath to see what would happen to this wandering fool. He jumped to the sound of the noise, one hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of a dull sword that was no longer at his hip. He had barely managed to escape nearby Shadowdale with his life, lucky still that he had managed to recover a few of his possessions along the way, but his weapon was not among them. [i]Why?[/i] The realization of his foolishness only strengthened his fear, and he shifted silently to the nearest tree, prepared to ascend its heights should he need to.

The forest did not stir. Yet [i]something[/i] had snapped that twig.

Deeply unsettled, he thought about turning around, abandoning this suicidal quest for power and acquire it by some other means. He had come to this forest to seek out a dragon. Or was it a wyrm? Or was it a chimera? The stories were so different, but they all held one consistency: the creature’s blood would permanently enhance the strength and power of anyone who drank it. He had come to find a creature, to observe it, and to see what he could do to draw enough blood from it, dead or alive, for his needs. But he was not a skilled fighter and his magical prowess was not strong. He had let his guard down for a moment, loosening his cowl to scratch an itch behind his ear, and someone had seen him for what he was. In the struggle to escape imprisonment from these strangers, he had lost most of the items he counted on to help him. Did he really think to sneak up on a magical beast?

Why did he even come here?

Spooked, frustrated, and confused, he turned around to head back the way he came, to take his chances in sneaking around those ignorant villagers, and noticed that the narrow track that ought to stretch before him was gone.

Outwardly, he stared, motionless. Inwardly, he panicked, then took a few hasty steps forward, forgetting that he needed to stay quiet. No, he would have remembered that knotted tree over here, that dead fern over there. He walked and circled, searching for his footsteps, looking for a familiar marker, seeking the narrow pathway he took to get into this place. Nothing. For the first time in his life, he was lost.

Not used to this kind of helplessness, he spun around, breathing hard, unremarkable brown eyes wide beneath his cowl. He resisted the urge to call out, not wanting to draw attention to himself, and willed himself to calm down even as his hands began to sweat beneath his gloves and his mouth dried. If he had somehow gotten lost, chances were good that no one would be able to find him. He had time to regain his wits, time to find a way to escape this forest on his own, the very idea of calling out for help worse than being stuck here forever.