The Wilderness; Something Stalks

His body was weary, and he laid his clothes back against the floor as he sat near the warmth of his fire. Shivering from the cold, he grasped the rough piece of wood and began carving away with the sharp flint, each strike sending splinters flying like miniature arrows.His fingers clenched tightly around the rock, the rough texture digging into his palm, as he slowly lost patience and then began hammering at the wood. But eventually, the piece of wood transformed into somewhat bowl-shaped, not the best, but it would work.

So, he held the bowl with an outstretched arm under the rain, as it slowly began filling up. Vincent cupped his hands together, scooping up the rainwater from the makeshift bowl and bringing it to his parched lips. He gulped it down as if he had never had water in his life. It felt refreshing, excellent. He sighed as he finished drinking, the cool liquid trickling down his throat like a lifeline in the midst of the storm. Through a crevice in the rocks covering the entrance, he set the makeshift bowl on the ground to collect rainwater. Setting the bowl aside, he leaned back against the cave wall, his muscles aching from the exertion of carving and the strain of surviving the storm. The crackling of the fire and the soothing sound of rain outside filled the cave with a sense of calm, contrasting sharply with the chaos of the outside world. Vincent closed his eyes for a moment. But then, a loud, deafening clap of thunder struck, jolting him awake. The serenity was suddenly shattered. 

"Stupid fucking storm. Holy shit."

"Why does everything have to be so damn difficult? Why does life insist on throwing one obstacle after another in my path?"

"But I won't let it break me." he continued. "I know they're alive."

"I know it. They have to be."

"They're strong."

"Stronger than this dumbass storm."

"And I'll be damned if I let anything happen to them. I'll find them. No matter what it takes, I'll bring them back to safety."

"I'll do it."

"I know I can."

But then, he realised something. He had lost something— maybe. Back at the village, his room in his hut, on the closet.

"Fuck."

"The journal. I— that's the final trace of my father. I can't lose it. No…"

Vincent sat in the warmth of the fire, his mind raced with thoughts. He promised his father that he would finish it when he died. Should he risk his safety and go back to the village? How would he even do that? Nevertheless, he sprung on his feet, put his clothes back on and exhaled heavily.

"I have to go." he murmured. "I must. I made a promise. To dad."

He climbed out the cave, feeling the rain pouring down on him. He'd risk it all. Hand on top of his head, he slowly walked through the forest, following the opposite direction of the raging river's current. The trees loomed overhead, their branches thrashing wildly in the fierce wind. Vincent squinted against the driving rain, his feet sinking in the muddy forest floor. His steps quickened as he went deeper in the wilderness. The roaring of the storm was muffled by dense foliage. But his senses were alarmed— he felt a prickling sensation on the back of his neck, he felt off, as if being watched, or rather, stalked. Taking slow glances around the gnarled trees, he continued walking down the muddy terrain.

Vincent took a breather under a thick tree branch, thick enough to cover him from the rain. The forest was still dark. His hand hovered in front of him, fingers trembling slightly as he examined his calloused palm. But then a drop of moisture fell from overhead, landing with a soft plop on his skin. It wasn't rainwater; this was thicker, viscous. Bringing his hand closer to his face, he sniffed cautiously, but the scent was faint. 

Suddenly then, his ears caught a barely audible sound— a low growl, muffled by the winds and the rain. His head snapped upward, his eyes skimmed over the canopy, when he caught a glimpse of two faint, white dots, eyes in the midst of the dark sky gazing at him. Before he could react, a sleek, dark shape leaped away, disappearing into the dense foliage. That sent shivers down his spine, and made his blood run cold. Shaking his head, he began running deeper, not wanting to think about that.

His feet beat down against the grass, arms in front in order to not crash into a tree. The pounding rain soaked through his clothes, making them cling uncomfortably to his skin. But as he ran his eyes continued to scan the surroundings for the same two faint, white dots. Just then, he saw them again, mere metres away from him. It growled loudly, leaping towards Vincent on four legs. Lightning revealed its slim, muscular and dark fur-covered body, and its sharp canines. 

Vincent lunged forward. Not looking back. He felt his feet painfully stepping on rocks. But he didn't stop. He couldn't stop. Branches whipped at his face, tearing small cuts in his face. Blood dripped from them. Thorns hit against his body. Rain poured down, washing away the blood. Only to be replaced by more. 

He lowered his head, feeling the branches hit against his top instead. His legs ached more and more. Breaths came in ragged. He continued sprinting, ears picking up the sound of rustling in the undergrowth, and more growling. That thing was still chasing. Can't stop. 

He dashed forward, left, right. Jumped over tree roots. Suddenly, he stumbled over a protruding root. Losing his balance. With a cry of alarm, he pitched forward. Arms flailing as he tumbled down a slope. The rain-slicked grass offered little resistance as he rolled, branches and twigs snapping beneath him. He regained his footing. Momentarily, he stopped. Then he decided to look back for just one glance.