You turn hard and sprint away along the bed of the stream, into the trees, fear strong. A gasping look back shows the figures shambling after, but far off. The cracked bed twists left and right; after a few such turns you scramble up onto the dust of the bank and take refuge behind the collapsed fibres of a trunk. The trees of the once lush wood are now bare, many no more than burnt husks. Dead branches rake the haze all around. You lie in the wreckage and catch your breath. After some time you realise the pursuit is over.
Cautiously retrace your steps Blog One
Continue alongside the bed Blog One Blog TwoStrike out into the woods Blog One Blog Two