Timestamp: 19th of Spring, 510 AV
The sting of blood in his left eye brought Sturlin's mind into sharper focus. Panic had threatened to overwhelm him, but he was in control now. His eyes scanned the unfamiliar trees in the darkness of the late evening. He had no memory of this place. Somehow his flight from the beast had led him off the trail and into the shadow. Welts were beginning to rise on his face and arms from the whipping of branches as he had burst through the undergrowth in an attempt to escape.
The hunter was not wearing his armor. He had not anticipated trouble, and had departed his camp wearing only his customary leather vest and breeches with high leather boots. His pack hung from his shoulder but his bow remained hidden in his camp. It had been his plan to travel lightly. This had been a mistake. On the bright side, he thought to himself, at least he was not as defenseless as the average archer without his bow.
Sturlin calmed his shaking with deep breaths as he wiped the blood from his eye. More immediately ran down, obscuring his vision. A light scalp wound such as this was not serious, but it was surprising how much blood it could produce. Reaching into his bag he ripped the hem of his spare cloak and wrapped the torn fabric around his skull as a bandage. It would do for now. An indistinct noise in the darkness made him jump.
He had been ranging deeper into the trees of late, searching for a suitable cave to make shelter in. His recent companions and security had made him careless. The hunter did not know what beast stalked his tracks, but whatever it was one thing was certain; it had claws. It had burst from the trees with a swiftness he could not match and marked the top of his bald scalp with those claws. Unable to see for the blood in his eyes, he had panicked and fled through the underbrush until he had found his way to this spot.
The first step toward finding your way when lost was searching the sky. Sturlin would have to climb a tree, or find an area where they were not quite as thick. As he heard a bulk shifting in the shadows he made his decision. Bark was rough on his fingers as he wrapped his arms around the tree and climbed up its surface with his feet. Moving as quickly as he could, he soon found his fingers wrapping around a lower branch. Reckless in his haste he cut and scraped his arms and hands.
Scanning the earth below him he paused only long enough to regain his breath before forging onward. Rocks and branches far below became smaller and smaller, until he was able to push his head out and above the canopy. The blinding light of dusk on the horizon disoriented him. Sturlin had just enough time to register where he was before his hands slipped and he tumbled backward. It turned out that he should have listened to Miharu and continued working on the elasticity of his left hand. The scarred fingers had failed him, unable to open widely enough to catch his one chance of salvation.
Falling out of a tree is a nasty business. Twigs spring from branches and attempt to cut and gouge one's flesh. Branches spring from the trunk and attempt to break any bone which comes into contact with them. The trunk moves faster and faster with each passing second, slipping from grasping fingers like the scales of a snake. Worst of all is the ground which rushes to welcome you with open arms.
Recalling what his uncle had once said of falling through the haze of pain, fear, and humiliation, Sturlin extended his arms to each side and attempted to strike the ground with the trunk of his body. While the pain was literally breathtaking, the force was spread throughout his body as he made impact. This was meant to help prevent the twisting and breaking of bones, but the hunter was unsure if it had worked or not. If his life and career had a high point, this day was well on the way to becoming its opposite.
Gasping for breath and choking on what came, Sturlin rolled onto his stomach and tried to push himself to his knees. His left arm gave out and he slipped into the leaves and dirt face first. Minutes passed as he lay there cataloging his pains and injuries, working up the strength to lift himself. If he was correct he had sprained or otherwise injured his left shoulder. His stomach was bleeding where his vest had flapped open during the fall, allowing a twig to gouge him. The toes of his right foot were tender, but thankfully he did not think they were broken. Above all he felt that the entire back of his body and much of the front of his body was bruised painfully.
Forcing himself to his knees with a great effort, he knelt on the ground and looked around in the fading light for his bag. It had been thrown free in the fall and rested some ten feet away. Ten feet had never felt as long. Flipping the bag open he searched for the cloak he had torn, ripping it further to provide wrapping for his stomach and a crude sling for his left arm. That was the end of that cloak. Yet another thing he would have to replace after this horrible misadventure.
The snap of a twig echoed through the twilight. The hunter froze, eyes widening. His fear of the beast was what had sent him up the tree and caused his tumble down. It was foolish of him to have forgotten it. Pain can confuse the senses temporarily. Willing away the fog from his mind, Sturlin slowly stood and rested his bag at his feet. It was important that he made no sudden movements. Gradually he began to master himself, though the tension grew so thick that it seemed to solidify in the air.
Another rustle broke the silence, and he knew that it was time. Whatever he must face this day, it was clear that flight was no longer an option. Perhaps if he had been brave enough or clever enough to stand and fight in the first place he could have avoided this many injuries, and faced his adversary at full strength. Something had circled around behind him. Taking in a deep breath, Sturlin whirled on the spot with arms stretched wide to await the beast's coming.