The sharp stone of the well travelled path cut deep into his bare feet leaving a trail of blood behind him as each new stone only offered to open his wounds further. Still he pressed on grimacing through the pain.

It was a pain endured out of necessity, for either side of the path, certain death lurked unseen. For this was a land where fauna and insect were as much an assassin as any man with a blade. The slightest scratch, if lucky would bring a swift premature end to his young life, if not then countless hours of searing torturous pain.

He had seen less than seven full cycles of the changing moon, too young to offer his life as a banquet for the wildlife.

Copyright: authorchrisbrown


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