It was cold. The rain stung like needles on my face as I ran through Blackwood Forest. My hands were on fire, throbbing and dripping with blood from the gash on my arm. I could hear myself wincing and screaming for help. The damp forest floor felt hard and dead. It seemed as though it was watching me. Watching me run for my life. Helpless. It felt like an eternity before I finally emerged at the end of the dark abyss of Blackwood county. I could see the Topal waters crashing violently against the rocky shores. My heart had been in my throat the entire time. My hair now fallen from it's ponytail and mangled with twigs and mud, dangling in my eyes.
I stood at the edge of the bank gazing down into the sharp rocky death I would surely meet should I leap. I turned just in time to see him running at me-- his blood-stained dagger held tightly in his veiny hand. His eyes were bloodshot and his nostrils flared out with every breath. He slowed his pace to a brisk walk. He was going to kill me. I stepped backwards, feeling the dampened earth collapse under my weight. I leapt forward with a shriek, just in time to escape the fall. To my dismay the man had dove forward at the same time, growling and turning my attention back to him. I couldn't react in time to save myself. His dagger found it's way into my stomach. I bent over in agonizing pain. I could feel my lungs failing. My heart slowed. I heard him whisper in my ear. "I told you I'd find you..."
I could feel him push me backwards over the cliff. The air whipped upwards, throwing my hair about wildly. I was falling quickly towards the Topal bay.
As I crashed into the chilling waters I felt my body engulped in numbness. I could no longer feel the gash on my arm. I felt weightless. The sea took me under, filling my lungs with cold salty water. I didn't fight death. I embraced it. As the last few seconds of air drained from me, and my eyes closed, as I sunk deeper into the Topal, I felt free.
Part 2
As the sun rose high and the birds chirped their morning song, I woke to a throbbing head. I curled up with my arms tucked into my stomach. I felt no pain. Only hunger. I was on a beach. The warming sands and a cool breeze convinced me to lift my head up.
There were mango tree's, tropical birds I've never seen before, and food. A table twelve feet long stood in the sand with platters of spicy kwama soup, roasted venison with stewed carrots, and sweetrolls glazed in honey cider. I lifted myself from the sand and stumbled clumsily towards the feast. My legs trembled under my malnourished body. I had no strength. I was determined to reach the feast. And so that was my motivation.
I dropped my elbows on the table top and scooped up the hot kwama broth with my bare fingers, letting the soup itself heat my hands. As it ran down my throat and warmed my stomach I felt a sense of life again. I tore the venison meat from it's bone and had it eaten in no less than two minutes. The sweetrolls left my svcking the honey glaze from my fingers. The pitchers of sweet cherry wine lie empty on the sandy shore.
I had curled up once more in a patch of flat tall-grass, my stomach aching with satisfaction. I felt somewhat comfortable there. It was a dream.