The Chase

Suddenly, she is awake. Senses heightened, mind racing, awake.  One thought above all others:
Run!   She does not know from what or to where but she finds her feet pounding the earth below her, at a haphazard pace that she could surely not maintain.  Fear, overwhelming fear. And darkness.  Everything is black.  The path she is on is littered with black, slick leaves in layers that must have taken years to accumulate.  It is amazing she is able to remain upright, running, stumbling forward at this ungodly pace.  'Where am I', she wonders.  She is certain she has never been here before, but yet, it all seems familiar. She is certain there is a forged path through the towering black trees lying just beneath the layers of decomposing, black underbrush. Twigs snapping beneath her feet cause her to push on, almost falling. She wonders if the sound was made by her feet or by some unseen pursuer.  The air is heavy and she feels as if her lungs refuse to allow it passage.  Her legs become heavy, breath short.  Warmth spreads across her flank.  It is comforting in this cold, dark forest.  The warmth begs her touch. She reaches through the layers of her cloak and, in the few slivers of moonlight allowed to reach the earth through the dense trees, she pulls her hand back wet and red.  Blood.  Her life draining, the warmth spreading down her leg. She looks down at the earth below her. She imagines it greedy for her blood, her warmth, her life.  'Shall I perish in this cold, dark place? Shall the trees be my only bereaved, or will they look upon me as an offering to the blood lust I fear they have?' The thoughts rush through her mind unabated.  The damp earth opens its jowls beneath her and she finds herself enveloped.  Desperate to fight the descent, she claws at the thick air above her.  There is nothing to hold onto.  There is no escape.  'From the earth I emerged and to the earth I shall return.'  She recites the curse in her mind as her own warmth begins to engulf her.  'This is where I began,' she realizes.  'I blazed this trail. I planted these trees. The forest is my own.'  Revelation upon revelation washes over her as she sinks further into the bowels of her fear, her forest, her darkness, her warmth.  She slowly slips into unconsciousness, closing her eyes for the long awaited rest.  There it is again, the snapping of twigs. Startled, she opens her eyes to see someone standing over her, reaching out to her.  She instinctively reaches her hand up; the effort requiring all of her remaining strength.  Immediately she finds herself standing on her feet, strength renewed. She reaches into her cloak to find her flesh intact. There is no blood.  Questions overwhelm her.  She looks to the stranger for answers but the figure merely turns away from her and begins walking.  She follows the sure footsteps into a clearing where she sees a bed, of sorts, fashioned from the underbrush. The stranger turns to her, the moonlight illuminating blue eyes and pale skin.  The eyes are her own!  Her eyes are then drawn to the scar on the strangers hand.  "That is my scar," she says.  "When we planted the trees," the stranger replies, in a voice matching her own.  "Rest now," the stranger says, pointing to the pallet of leaves.  "Tomorrow, we begin again."