I am running.
The dark woods.
The darkness makes it difficult to find my way back home.
I can hear them near me. A simple arms length away.
I feel their bony claws lightly brush against my shoulders as I run.
The dim moonlight fades in and out of the trees. The trees, gnarled & ancient, care not.
The trees have stopped their growth and stand in an impotent vigil of the narrow path.
There are things among the sentinels who shamble without aim.
Devoid of life, they want what is ours.
The things are innumerable in the dark, slow are they - mindless - but they never tire.
I pace my run. I out-think them.
I know I'm alive. I know I am. Alive.
That most ancient of games I play.
I become complacent in avoidance of their unstoppable determination.
Make use of the dim light. Watch for their hands & arms jutting from the blackness.
The ancient roots of the eternal judges line the narrow path.
Then I fell...
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