The rain pounds onto your head to the rhythm of your heartbeat, the thunderous dashing of your horse maintaining the urgency twisting your stomach as the pair of you race through the forest. Lightning the only thing keeping you from ramming into trees or altogether fumbling, you peer through wet eyelashes, trying to find somewhere that would promise safety. If anything it’s a gamble; you’re surely miles from civilization and the last semblance of it you remember passing is some fellow in a carriage that looked like he hadn’t slept a wink his whole life.
What exactly landed you in this predicament, you still don’t know. All you know is that you were suddenly being chased out of the blue. With some nasty rumors going around, about a possible killer on the loose, regret of being out alone has finally caught up to you.
Glancing over your shoulder, the towering figure, clad in a coat with long strands of hair swaying as it ran after you, is still somehow maintaining a good pace. Even with the occasional lightning that illuminated your environment, you couldn’t see their face. But even so, all you know is that you have to just. Keep. Running.
“Gunpowder, hurry!” You plead, putting your eyes back on the path ahead. The gray horse whines in response, but he shares your urgency enough to obey you. You know he’s getting exhausted, and it pains you that he’s having to do so much, but you make the silent promise to give him apples - his favorite - as a reward once this... person is off your tail.
Your lip quivers at a fork in the road. “Dammit, which way...?!”
Without much time to think, you swerve Gunpowder right, and just when you feel you’ve become immune to the small jarring the lightning brings, a terrible sound followed by a loud ‘CRACK!’ scares your equine friend so terribly he nearly screams while standing tall on his back legs, jumping about in fright until you find yourself tumbling off.
“Gunpowder-!” You shriek, landing on the ground, your swift attempt at regaining your footing miserably failing as the bright lightning and roaring thunder scares Gunpowder into speeding off without you as a tree falls behind him.
You attempt to call after him, but then your back collides into a tree at the bottom of the dip, knocking the words from your throat. Coughing horrifically, you push down with your hands to get back up, peering up to find somewhere to climb.
Newfound dread washes over you as the figure that was chasing you before now stands at the top, where Gunpowder had previously been panicking. Sucking in a breath through your teeth, you try to maintain being still and quiet, hoping they’ll think you’re gone or something and move on. Much to your horror, the lightning flashes again, and you can register the light on your eyes before it quickly fades.
An uneven yelp wrenches from you when the figure implies an advance toward you. Hurriedly, you turn to push to the side, getting onto your feet in no time. A shooting pain bites your leg, and you nearly stagger, but the adrenaline stemming from your anxiety is the only thing keeping you upright. Despite your aches, you continue running, crying out again as you hear another pair of footsteps, heavy and almost brutish, coming up behind you.
Your ankle snaps to an angle, not enough to break, and you fall with a scream, tumbling onto your back with sweetgums digging into your back. Opening your eyes - shielded by the canopy of the forest from the rain - you can only watch as the large figure reaches you in what feels like a few steps.
Frantically, your hand pats your pants beneath your coat, eventually finding your knife. Taking it out of the leather casing, you point it out, lamenting how small the blade is.
“L-leave me alone!” You quiver. “A-any closer and I’ll stab you!”
The figure’s head tilts, but it doesn’t quit approaching. Pushing with your other hand, you try and maintain distance to no avail.
“I-I said, get away from me!”
When they finally reach you is when you realize your threats are in vain, and you bring both hands up to shield your face when they kneel. Too afraid to cry, you can only curl up slightly as large, strange feeling hands find your injured leg.
Expecting pain or a slow death, you inhale sharply as the hands poke and prod, but when after some time of this nothing happens, you find it in yourself to peek through your fingers.
Strangely the person who had previously been your pursuer is showing in a far from aggressive manner that they aren’t trying to hurt you, but seem to be, in some strange way, trying to get your attention. Slowly removing your hands, you tilt your head as they notice they have it, backing away a little to give you some space.
Blinking, you tilt your head, the thunder and lightning ceasing, leaving the rain to keep the pair of you company. Swallowing, you push until you’re upright, to which they perk up a bit.
“... Um.” Is all you can manage. “... Hello?”
They nod, as if in reply.
Alright... “Who are you?”
Your lip becomes firm. “Who. Are. You.”
They lean forward slightly, reaching with a hand to brush some hair from your face. Their skin feels... almost like wood against yours. Splintered, rotting wood. Then it’s here you realize by the broad stature and naturally larger size that this is a man. A very... large one.
“Are you... going to hurt me?” You ask. It’s foolish, but you want to have some assurance he knows you’re speaking to him, figuring it’s mutual in that you can only see his outline.
And much to your surprise, he shakes his head.
“Why did you chase me? Where are you from?” You ask.
At first, he seems inclined to try and answer, and you register him opening his mouth before his head suddenly snaps upward, and he looks off somewhere like a startled guard dog. After a moment, he hurriedly pushes until he’s standing again, and it’s only when a faint orange glow appears that you can begin making out his face.
However, before you can take it in, he suddenly turns and runs, his thundering footsteps shaking the ground before he fades into the darkness once more, away from the glow that’s swiftly becoming stronger, accompanied by the shouts of people. You don’t even have the time to call after him.
Looking, your eyes go wide at the sight of men on horses, carrying torches and pitchforks with enraged determination in their eyes. When they begin looking around, you shakily raise your arm, calling.
With even the softest peep, the men snap their heads toward you, holding out their torches so they can see you better. Some dismount their horses, rushing down to you and helping you.
What comes after is foggy, but you remember being met halfway by your father’s carriage, his gentle hands taking your waterlogged shoulders and leading you into the wagon, and the next thing you know you’re home.
Before you blow out your candle to turn in for the evening, relieved that Gunpowder had returned home unharmed, you could’ve sworn you saw a familiar figure standing in the town’s shadows...
