Secrecy

I heard them now. Vibrant, extremely clear, opaque voices, disrupting the morning tranquility, rupturing through the forest like hellhounds, resounding of the tree bark like an orchestra of bass strings. They were coming for me.

A single ray of sunlight fought its way through the treegrowth. Evanescent beauty, glorious compared to the dull luminescence of everyday life. I stared at it, transfixed. It was, in so many ways, I realized, like love, or friedship. Beautiful, but temporary. 

A breeze puffed heavily through the thicket of leaves as the riders came. I cowered, crouching further into my small alcove sanctuary. Asylum, but only for a while. I knew they would find me. They would. But I had to buy myself some time.

I had to move. But not yet.

I scrutinized the riders that had conspicuously, as though to flush me out, trod into the middle of the clearing. They were tall, burly, and those parts of them not hidden by their cloaks that somehow seemed to sinisterly enclose them, were robust, vigorous, their muscular frame matched only by their ill-boding demeanor. 

Their horses looked enough like normal horses to fool most. But, the enervated horses looked sluggish, languished, driven to the verge of humanity and beyond. They were emaciated, flustered with famine. Their haggard demeanor was enough to flood even the most immoral of souls with pity for these down-trodden, ill fated creatures.
Then I saw their eyes. It was as though their very eyes seemed to radiate with hatred, cursing all that was alive and dead alike. It filled me with a fear so fixing and real, yet so indescribable. 

I had to act, I told myself. Easier said than done, a tiny little voice in my head retorted. If I don't, they'll find me, I rebuked myself. 

I made an effort to slip out of the alcove and into the more forested part of the woods. The riders hadn't moved an inch, yet somehow, I felt they were on to me, staring at my hiding place at this very moment. The thought appaled me, it chilled me to the bone. 

I ran then. I ran as fast as I could, tripping over the undergrowth several times, yet obstinate in my desire to get away from this place. Get away from THEM.

I knew it was futile. It was pointless, desperate. They'd find me. But I needed time. Not to live. To prepare. My life had finished the second they found me in this forlorn forest. 

I ran till I got to a clearing. It wasnt too bad a place to spend my last hours. I could prepare in peace, get ready. To keep my secret. To keep our secret. 

At that point, I saw them. I'd no idea when they'd got there, but they were there. Their faces were a ploy of inscrutability, their expressions impassive. They just sat there, on their horses. They stared at me, and I knew I would not find a shred of compassion in those eyes. They were probably as indifferent to the fate of fellow human beings, as to the fate of the ants under their feet. Or their horses, for that matter. Though, they were not entirely alive...

Frightened, I turned instantly, and made madcap dash for the relative safety of the trees. Branches whipped my face, leaves rustled my face, rocks pierced my bare skin, and I was certain it would end like this. But, for once, luck had not abondoned me. I quickly spotted a hollow tree big anough for me to fit in, yet inconspicuous enough to buy me some more time. At least, I hoped it would...

I climbed into it with much difficulty, but somehow, I managed. I was numb with dejection and sadness, but I'd managed. For now. 

It was only a matter of time. Only time stood between me, and death. Then again, doesn't it always?

I knew I should be preparing myself mentally. I'd been prepared for this very situation, had done several scenarios of it. But I just couldn't. Back in that training room, it had seemed surreal, like it'd never actually happen. Now, it was, and I was too scared to think. I was told they would be most likely to torture me to death. That is, if I was lucky, and got away with death. I didn't care. I'd known the price of secrecy. 

My death was noone's fault but my own. Ultimately, the price of secrecy is death. 

But I wouldn't give them up. I would NOT give them up. 

THE END