He has now been on this road for more than four weeks.
Two weeks ago, he ate that strange mushroom stew and the encounter by the burning corpses was still fresh in his mind.
"Where to go? I have no clue where to go nor where we are heading. We might have ridden too far north, but that remains to be seen. Hey, are you even listening? Unbelievable…" The boy said aloud, the horse seemingly ignoring his words as usual.
Not long after, he heard a twig snap in the forest behind him, and he readied his musket, ready to encounter a wild animal. But the more he looked, the more he began to doubt himself. Maybe it was only his imagination, or perhaps the mushrooms he ate were still playing pranks on him.
He quickly shrugged off those ideas. He uncocked the hammer and went down from the horse, where he began to inspect the forest closely. Step by step, he ventured deeper. He looked over his shoulder and saw how Skymmning was looking at him, and it took him a second before he saw that the horse was actually looking behind him. A cold shiver rose from his back. He turned around but found nothing behind him.
He got shaken when he heard an owl *Hoot*, he turned towards the sound and fired his musket *Bang*... *Thud* a dead owl fell from atop a tree. He was still apprehensive and began to look around. He had forgotten the first rule of the wild, which was to reload his musket.
Gazing into the cold dark woods of northern Europe, a thin layer of snow lay atop the grounds in these woods. His breath was foggy, and that's when he heard it *Bang* the sound of a musket reverberating across the icy landscape.
He ducked and saw how a large chunk of the bark had been blown apart from the tree beside him. He began to reload his musket while taking cover behind a tree, taking his sweet time doing so, for his eyes were looking at his surroundings. It was beginning to get pitch black outside.
The sun had begun to go below the horizon. He was not prepared for a fight in the middle of the arctic forests of Scandinavia, *Bang* pieces of bark flew across the snow-covered ground, and he put all his attention on reloading his musket now, as there was far more than just one person who wanted him dead.
He saw the bloom of smoke not too far away, maybe 100 meters in front of him. Hee deduced that the other one had to be flanking him, so he prepared his musket and fixed his ring bayonet on it.
"In silence, we walk, in darkness, we roam," he whispered before he rushed towards his left and took cover by a tree, looking around for a musket or something similar, but he found nothing, so he ran to the next tree. And so it went on until the last rays of the sun began to shine upon them.
He rushed forth sliding in-between the trees, he flew forward like a slithering serpent, he went side to side never reviling where he might go next, then he heard a footstep not far from him, '20 meters'.
He dashed forth from his cover, *Bang* the bullet missed him, but he felt how it passed his face just bearly, but he continued nonetheless. He felt how the snow on the ground made it hard to move, feeling how his breath became more labored. '10 meters' The tress was now casting long shadows over the snow-covered ground.
He saw a musket sticking out from behind a tree not too far away. He aimed and slowed down to make it steady. And soon, a head popped out, and he squeezed the trigger. *Bang* he saw the body fall and moved forward. '2 meters' two trees in front of him the second one was waiting for him.
Or so he thought, but suddenly he saw a spear was racing towards him from his right-hand side. He could not do much aside from trying to deflect it away from him with his musket and began to crouch down.
The spear was deflected, and he now saw the face of a Sami (An indigenous person belonging to the Fino-Ugric tribes who predominantly live in northern Scandinavia/Russia).
He frowned but did not relent. He began to push all his strength and weight towards him. *Thud* they were both on the ground side. He quickly let go of the musket and vaulted backward.
With a deep breath, he drew his pistol, and the Sami wouldn't let him pull the trigger, so the man threw himself at the boy, with the Sami now sitting on him, drawing his knife, he got a punch straight to the stomach and was staggered for a moment.
Where the boy was not pushing with all his might to reverse their position, the Sami dropped his knife in the struggle for control and was forced to the ground below. Now disarmed, the boy threw a gut punch but got a fist to the face in return, and the boy has learned to take a hit.
So his punches were hard and true. In the corner of his eye, he saw a person raising a musket and aiming it toward him. He threw himself to the side as a loud *Bang* echoed through the darkening forest.
But as he leaped, he felt a firm grip on his feet which made him fall straight downwards. He saw the Sami had caught his foot, and he preceded to kick him with all his might with his free one.
After three kicks to his arm, the Sami's grip loosened, and he took his pistol and aimed it towards the faint shadow, who was about to throw a spear at him, '2 meters' he cocked the pistol, *Bang* *Thud*
The sound of groaning could be heard from the fallen comrade of the Sami. He staggered to his feet and drew his sword, looking at the Sami who picked up its spear. Drained of energy, his hands began to feel like lead, heavy, cumbersome.
His tricorne was somewhere on the ground. His red hair was now laid bare to the last sunray to graze it before darkness covered all. He poised his sword aiming it high. Now it was instincts and luck that would be the winning factors here.
He took one deep breath before bringing his sword upwards before swinging it down; *Clang* it met something hard. He now knew where the Sami was, so he thrust the blade forward and felt it connect.
A cold breeze came forth, chilling him to his very bones.
He let go of his sword and hunched down to the ground, throwing himself forward, tackling the Sami to the ground. He then dragged out his sword from his opponent's chest and preseeded to stab him continuously with overhand thrusts.
His breaths were labored. He could barely move his arms. *Groan* He rose, his body aching. He began to move backward slowly, and he sat down, leaning against the closest tree, catching his breath before attempting to find his musket somewhere in the snow.