Bramblepoint Sunblind

Khenbish paced through the dark in tight loops, in tighter staccato. He was sensitive to every sound, to every change in light. A dim shadow passing through the sky could spell death - so could the snap of a twig under a creature's weight. It was an obsession, an obsession with staying alive.

Many people thought the government or their family wanted them dead. Khenbish thought the whole world did.

So when he saw the figure of a stranger struggling through the undergrowth, his narrow face disappeared into the cluster of ferns he'd been hiding in, hoping to evade notice. He saw the pewter sky fragmented by branches and leaves, smelled the loam beneath his feet.