Victim of Fate

He ran. His feet drummed against the rocky ground. All around him large, grey boulders towered into the night sky like distorted giants, silent and unmoving. The waning moon offered a little light, but not enough. He stumbled and fell. Ignoring the pain, he scrambled back to his feet and willed them to move forward again, hoping against all odds that fate would grant him this small mercy.

Maybe the dark will slow them, too, he thought, trying to build his courage. He knew they were behind him, though he couldn't see or hear them. He knew they were following him. They were coming.

All too soon he felt his heart begin to flutter and his feet became heavy as if he was carrying a great weight. Daring a glance behind him he saw that he was alone. They were nowhere to be seen. The pale moonlight glistened on his sweat-drenched hair as he continued running for a few short minutes more until his meager strength reached its limits.

He tripped again and hit the ground hard. For a sweet moment he lay there trying to breathe, then the terror of being caught washed over him again, giving him the strength to push himself up and to crawl into a small, cave-like crevice between two boulders. He curled up, exhausted, and within a few heartbeats a warm, complete darkness wrapped itself around him like a blanket, pulling him under.

?

Loud shouts, in the unfamiliar, harsh language of the Urgals, woke him. He held his breath, wishing he could disappear.

Then a bright light fell on his face, causing him to squint. More shouts followed. He felt rough hands grab his arm, pulling him out of his hiding place. The monster bellowed triumphantly.

They found me!

The thought had hardly entered his mind before his body reacted. He wildly tried to shrug them off, but more hand were added and he was forced to the ground, his face was pressed to the stone and his arms were pulled painfully behind him as strong, abrasive ropes tightened around his wrists.

The group consisted mainly of Urgals, but they were undoubtedly there too, watching, gloating, enjoying the spectacle. They had done this to him. They would take the last remnants of his pride away, he knew, and the fear that coursed through him was far to strong to be kept contained. His fear, his constant, pounding companion, that held him so firmly in its grip that his mind was just as bound and helpless as his body was.

He cried out in frustration and rage, knowing that he was shaming himself by doing so but he couldn't stop himself. His fear would not let him.