The boy lay hidden among thick bushes, trying to breathe as quietly as possible. His body pulsed with pain, each movement sending a dull, aching sensation through his side and legs. The branches scratched his face, his clothes were torn to shreds, and blood still flowed from his wounds. He knew he couldn't stay here long—his pursuers, though slowed, wouldn't give up the chase.
The forest around him seemed alive. The dark branches of the trees whispered something to him in their own language, and the leaves rustled, as if warning him against taking another step. In the distance, the hoots of night birds echoed in his head like the tolling of a bell. The forest enveloped him, wrapping him in an atmosphere of fear and despair.
The boy understood that he urgently needed to find a safe place, but in this cursed forest, there were no shelters. The trees, which seemed so massive and impenetrable, concealed threats within them that could emerge at any moment.
He listened to the sounds around him. Winged creatures were still trying to squeeze through a narrow crevice, their malicious hissing and the scraping of claws against stone reaching his ears. The boy knew their fury wouldn't subside until they reached their prey.
His gaze accidentally fell on the sky, visible through the treetops. The sky was overcast, and not a single star was in sight. "Darkness and fear," he thought. It seemed even the moon's light had abandoned him, just like everything else in this world.
But the boy had something that neither darkness nor fear could take away. It was his will to live. He didn't want to die here, on the ground, into which his claws had dug as if into flesh. This thought, this resolve, gave him strength, even though his body was already exhausted.
The boy forced himself to get up. His legs trembled, but he knew time was running out. He quickly looked around and spotted in the distance an ancient, almost dead oak tree covered in moss and lichen. Its massive branches were so intertwined that they seemed like a single entity. At the base of the tree, there was a small hollow—narrow, but possibly large enough to hide inside.
He realized this was his only chance. If he could reach the tree and hide, he would have time to catch his breath and plan his next move.
The boy dashed forward, gritting his teeth against the pain, forcing his body to obey. Blood from the wound in his side soaked his shirt, but he kept moving. He could feel the blood running down his legs, but his thoughts were focused only on not stopping. The creatures had already begun to emerge from the crevice and surged after him with renewed force.
The path to the old oak was as short as possible, but each step felt like an eternity. Every branch, every root underfoot seemed to try to hold him back, as if the forest itself was against him. The winged beasts left him no room for error, their piercing cries tearing through the night's silence. The boy could feel them closing in, as if their claws were already brushing against his back.
Reaching the oak, he slid into the hollow at the last moment, squeezing through the narrow entrance almost blindly. Outside, the sound of wings beating against the bark filled the air, the creatures furiously circling the tree but unable to reach their prey. The boy breathed heavily, his body shaking from the tension, but he was safe—at least for a while.
Inside the hollow, it was dark and damp, smelling of rot and wet earth. The boy could hear the creatures outside hissing angrily and scraping against the tree. He couldn't relax or calm down, knowing this was only a temporary reprieve. His wounds ached more and more, and his mind began to fog from exhaustion and blood loss.
He slowly surveyed the inside of the hollow. It was cramped, but enough to hide. He needed to stop the bleeding. With difficulty, trembling hands tore a piece of fabric from his shirt and tied it around the wound. The pain was unbearable, but he knew that if he didn't stop the bleeding, he would simply lose consciousness.
Having finished bandaging, the boy began to think about his next steps.
As his mind drifted between sleep and wakefulness, he felt the silence outside starting to thicken. Something had changed. The creatures were no longer screaming or trying to break in. The boy tensed, listening, but the silence was absolute. It was even scarier than their angry cries.
The boy sat, breathing heavily, in the cramped, damp hollow. His heart pounded wildly, and his wounded hands trembled. He tried to calm down, listening to the surrounding darkness. Outside the hollow, only the occasional muffled sounds of the forest could be heard, and the noise from those who had chased him gradually faded. But even when everything went quiet, the boy didn't dare to emerge immediately. He knew those creatures couldn't be trusted. A moment of silence could turn into a deadly trap.
An hour passed, then another, during which he fought off sleep. Only when the forest finally sank into a dead silence did the boy decide to crawl out of his hiding place. He urgently needed to find a new, safer location. The blood he had shed on the ground during his escape could attract other monsters, and he knew staying here would be suicide. Remembering the things they had drilled into them since infancy when they were being prepared for slave labor, he set about masking the smell of blood, bandaging his wounds with the practiced skill that had become second nature to him.
Finally, after long minutes of agonizing waiting, the boy cautiously emerged from the hollow. The forest around him was dark and grim, and the night's gloom seemed thick, almost tangible. But the faint moonlight filtering through a narrow gap in the treetops helped him orient himself and find a way out. Once outside, he discovered that he was on the other side of the hill, farther from the cursed place where he had nearly been caught.
Here, in this abandoned forest, everything was bleak and unwelcoming. The trees, crooked and black, seemed to stretch toward the sky like giant claws, trying to tear apart the night. Every step the boy took was accompanied by a muffled rustling, and every shadow seemed alive. Yet in this oppressive stability, he felt a strange relief. Here, deep in the darkness, he was just one of many shadows.
However, finding a safe place to rest in such a forest was nearly impossible. The boy understood that any shelter here was just a temporary respite. In the end, he chose a thicket of dense shrubs, considering it the least noticeable place for monsters. Here, he could at least briefly hide from the hostile world, which seemed to be filled only with pain and fear.