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Clockwork: a World of Choice

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High in the trees, in the dark green depths of their boughs, an owl hoots its warning. The sound is dead, almost hollow. A sense of dread accompanies it, a silent voice telling you that the noise is perverse, not natural. You shiver, and convince yourself it is only the cold.

Booted feet fall mute on the moist ground; only your cloak, gathered about your shoulders and clasped with an elaborate brooch, pronounces your presence as it rustles with your movements. You are an intruder on this nightscape, an unwelcomed visitor among the trees.

Leafy rustles in a bush beside you grab your attention. You control the urge to strike out at the disturbance, realizing that it is just a creature scurrying through the nocturnal world. Anxiety is slowly slipping cold fingers about your conscience.

Another noise arouses latent fears: a pitchy scream muffled by the surrounding foliage. Shivers race down your spine only to rise back up, and experience soon shared by the rest of your body. As your composure returns you decide to search out the source of the sound.

You set off silently in the direction of the scream, a task made easier as it cuts through the forest once more. Hearing the unmistakable groan of steel preceeding it, you decide to draw your own weapon.

The End
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