Ankyra Sound the devil's garden

he did not know if his path was safe.

no path was safe, not really, not ever.

the rain sleeted around him; the earth forced him to climb or it sharply cut away and forced him to turn, or to descend, and the soil was slick, and he grimaced against the stinging salt of it all.

he did not look back to see if he was chased—not until the last moment—and saw then, the growing presence of a swarthy body who appeared to be gaining.

a snarl ripples from him as he debates, in haste, what to do about it.