Bryn muttered irritably as he stalked along the winding forest track behind Avar. As if being schizophrenic wasn't bad enough, now he was sopping wet to boot. It always had to rain at the least convenient of moments in this goddam country.

Bryn was starting to get the feeling that he shouldn't have left the mountains. This foreign weather just wasn't agreeing with him.

Then again, what choice had he had? Mayra and Avar had been wandering around the mountains in circles for days before Bryn had found them and lead them out. If he hadn't, they'd probably have starved to death in the wilderness of high peaks and plunging valleys. And if the mountains didn't get them, the wolves would have. They'd been getting closer to them every night, getting increasingly bold as the duo had become more and more lost in the labyrinth of stony pathways. Bryn knew. He'd been listening.

Of course, once he'd got them out of the mountains, they'd begged him to help them negotiate the route to Haesdra. Bryn had agreed, not wanting to seem unreasonable. He hadn't asked why they were going, after all that was none of his business. Not that he didn't like his travelling companions, in fact they had become quite close friends. Avar was friendly and open, forever with a joke on his lips and the gleam of mischief in his eyes. Mayra was more reserved, but never seemed to suffer from ill-temper. She just seemed to accept things as they were and didn't care about what could have been.

She was also infinitely curious about Bryn, forever asking him questions about his life in the mountains; how he'd got there, what life was like, if he'd ever felt like he was missing something.

If he was honest, he didn't know half the answers to those questions himself.

But something was bothering him. Something that had plauged Bryn ever since the first night he'd met his friends.

He had the strange feeling they were being followed. Nightmares about creatures lurking in shadows, eyes gleaming evilly as they flitted around and that forever-present feeling that there were eyes boring into the back of his head. He was getting this feeling now, and it was making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up on end.

Whatever was stalking him, if there was anything at all, was making him very uncomfortable.

And it was getting worse with every passing day.

The End

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