Ankyra Sound the devil's garden

a shout carried through the trees.

drusk roused; he lifted free of the roots and the ferns, sluggish despite the need to be quick. proprioception giving him a sense of his physical limits, perhaps exacerbated by the pain in his palms, the bruise-like quality of his muscles after so many days of roaming. sleep was what he wanted, but he was not going to get it.

he did not want to be targeted. neither could he run, really.

the stranger wasn't a stranger, either — their shape hard to see in the dark and the rain, but identifiable if drusk took the time to listen for the void. rain sounded different upon a forest and upon a body. still, drusk did not know exactly where the stranger was.

he picked a direction and tried to run.