Each step was agony. Each step threatened Jeron's consciousness. Each step was like a battle not to lose his strength, and he was not sure how long he could keep up the fight. He wandered for the sake of wandering, knowing that if he stopped, he would fall, and if he fell, he would never rise to his feet again. His ragged breathing reflected the pain that stabbed through his whole body, every inhale expanding the wounds on his torso like a form of torture, every exhale like tearing a knife through his flesh. His wound oozed, in need of care, and Jeron knew this, knew that time would claim his life eventually.

He couldn't remember why he was originally here but knew that it was something of great importance to him. He feared that pondering the matter would sap the last of his power, so he didn't bother. Why would it matter? It wasn't as though he had the strength to do anything about it. Survival was the only thing on his mind now, a goal like reaching a light at the ceiling of a tall, dark room with no ladder to speak of.

Jeron couldn't sense the woman following him, the weak throb of his heart the only thing he could hear, his own blood the only thing he could smell, and everything around him appearing as large shapes. It was a wonder he didn't trip and fall over a root, though his feet caught such protrusions many times, a frantic grip on a nearby tree the only thing keeping him up during those times. He paused to catch his breath at these moments, flailing to keep upright using a tremendous amount of energy he simply did not have.

It was during one of these long, pitiful pauses that her voice managed to pierce through the slowing cadence of his life force like the sharp bleat of a trumpet. Instinctively, Jeron's body snapped to attention, that alone almost a regretful act due to the stabbing pain it elicited. He sucked in a breath, his vision suddenly clear and sharp, and gripped the tree tightly with one hand. Why was she still following him? Did he not already prove that he was not a threat and couldn't kill her if he tried? Why trace his wandering steps for this long? Perhaps she intended to kill him at some quiet place and he needed only to wander into the ideal location. Perhaps she wanted to watch him die so she could be assured of his passing. Whatever the reason, he could not bring himself to show concern or care. At this point, there was little he could do about it. She will watch him fight to live, and that was that.

Jeron did not turn to face the woman, instead tilting his chin towards his shoulder, damp strands of silvery hair falling free around his face. "I wish to live," he rasped, his voice barely above a whisper despite the effort it took to speak. Then he continued to move.

Knowing that he was being followed did much to heighten his alertness. His vision didn't fade, and he could hear the woman's footsteps behind him now, always a respectable distance away. He did his best to ignore her, instead sweeping the ground with his gaze for a specific herb. He needed something to clean his wounds and stop the bleeding, something low growing with small white flowers...for the life of him, he could not remember the name...

There. In this strange forest, Jeron spotted something that looked familiar, a most common weed. Of course it would grow here. Gratefully, he dropped to his knees and almost passed out right then and there, his eyes rolling to the back of his head, his body swaying. Somehow, he regained his senses, returning to the present, and Jeron began to pick and pull at the plant, a normally quick procedure now a slow, arduous process.