Andrew tore through the underbrush, each step deliberate. He wasn't just running now, he was leading the Treant.
He needed height. A position with visibility and control.
The forest shifted again, its terrain sloping upward toward a jagged ridgeline. Trees thinned out near the top. Sunlight broke through in slanted beams.
That was his destination.
"Finally" he breathed, relieved.
Behind him, the Treant thundered forward, slower now, forcing its massive limbs through roots and trunks. It didn't rush. It didn't need to. It was inevitable. But inevitable could still be outmaneuvered.
Andrew hit the base of the slope and began the ascent, using roots and sharp rocks as footholds. His breaths came short and sharp, every movement sending fire through his injured shoulder. But he didn't stop.
Halfway up, he paused, crouched low, and looked back.
The Sylvans had regrouped, three of them, weaving through the trees with twitching precision. They didn't follow in a line. They fanned out, circling.
They were flushing him uphill. He smirked grimly.
"Perfect. Right where I want you."
He reached the top of the rise, an uneven plateau lined with old, wind-warped trees and stone formations that jutted like broken teeth.
From here, he could see the clearing below. The path he came from. The routes the Sylvans might take.
"Now I control the fight."
He moved quickly, stacking small rocks near the edge of the slope. He laced thorny vines between two crooked trees, camouflaging them with leaves. Every second counted.
Then he drew a line in the dirt with his dagger and crouched behind a slab of stone. Waiting.
The first Sylvan appeared, its lean body gliding through the trees, claws twitching.
It didn't sense the trap. It moved fast, straight into the vine line.
SNAP!!
Its leg got caught and it stumbled.
Andrew moved like lightning.
He surged forward, striking low and fast, his dagger slashing across the Sylvan's hamstring. It dropped with a hiss. Before it could scream, Andrew drove the blade into its throat.
The second one wasn't far behind.
This one saw the trap. It stopped, adjusted and smarter. It leapt up onto the rocks instead, bounding toward Andrew's flank.
Andrew ducked under its first swipe, pivoted, and slammed his elbow into its ribs, throwing it off balance. The Sylvan recovered mid-air, but Andrew had already drawn a rock from the stack beside him. He hurled it into the creature's face.
It flinched.
Andrew followed with a brutal upward slash.
The dagger met flesh. The Sylvan shrieked and tumbled back down the ridge.
'Two down.'
A groan echoed below. Heavy and close.
"The Treant" he whispered.
Andrew dropped low again, breath ragged, sweat stinging his eyes.
He scanned the slope.
The third Sylvan stood still, watching from below but it didn't climb. It stepped aside.
The Treant moved past it, up the slope, straight towards Andrew.
Andrew's pulse spiked.
The high ground gave him options, but against something that size, it also meant less room to run.
He circled to the far edge of the ridge, scouting for his next move.
Then he saw it.
A fallen tree stretched out like a bridge to another hill, narrow, weathered, but solid.
"That's my next escape."
He bolted for it as the Treant thundered into view behind him. It raised its arms.
He hit the fallen log, sprinting across with full momentum. The wood creaked, bending beneath his weight. Halfway across.
The Treant hurled a massive boulder ripped from the ground.
Andrew saw the shadow first. Instinct took over.
He jumped, just as the rock smashed into the trunk.
The bridge shattered behind him.
He crashed onto the opposite ridge, rolling hard, biting back a scream as pain tore through his shoulder and ribs, but he was across.
Alive.....
He looked back through the branches.
The Treant stared from the other side, unmoving.
It wouldn't risk the gap yet.
Andrew pushed to his feet, gasping.
Then smiled through bloodied teeth.
[Time Remaining: 9 hours 22 minutes]
Let the forest catch up.
He'd already moved on.
Andrew sat with his back against a twisted pine, chest heaving.
Blood soaked through the makeshift bandage on his shoulder. His left side throbbed from the fall, and dirt coated every inch of him. But his mind....his mind was sharp.
He'd bought himself minutes, not hours. Just minutes.
He unwrapped the tattered bandage and hissed as cold air touched the wound. The claw marks were deep, flesh torn, but not infected. Yet. He tore another strip from his shirt then he wrapped it tighter, tying the knot with trembling fingers.
"Still in the game," he muttered.
The ridge around him was quieter. Different. Not safe, just still.
He turned his attention to the terrain. This new ridge was narrower, with sharper inclines. But what caught his eye were the massive roots of a downed Elderpine tree. They curved upward like twisted ribs, forming a half-shelter.
"Yesssss," that was cover, not for hiding but for setting a trap.
Andrew moved fast despite the pain. He gathered rocks, branches, and dead vines, dragging them beneath the massive roots. He shoved the sharpened ends of broken branches into the soft earth, angling them upward like punji stakes. Then he stacked a few flat stones to resemble a crouched silhouette in the back of the shelter.
A decoy.
Now he had a trap, and a spot to observe. But he needed more. He glanced at the forest beyond.
A narrow deer trail led back toward the deeper woods, darker, more overgrown.
If the Sylvans were regrouping, they'd come from there.
He didn't wait.
Andrew sprinted down the trail, keeping low, moving fast. Every step was a gamble with pain, but his breathing had leveled. The worst of the adrenaline crash had passed.
His dagger was still in hand, its dark edge flickering faintly, as if pulsing with the forest's tension.
Five minutes down the trail, he spotted signs.
Footprints. Claw marks on bark. The faintest smear of black sap.
They were close!
He took a sharp right, moving parallel to the path, and began circling back wide. His goal wasn't to fight head-on anymore.
His goal was to funnel them.
He found a low-hanging vine and snapped it from the tree, then wrapped it around a smooth stone, tying a crude snare. The loop he buried near a break in the trail, just before a narrow bottleneck between two trees.
Then he slid back through the undergrowth, returning to the ridge with practiced silence.
He settled into position beneath the root-trap, watching, breathing, counting.
He was outnumbered! He was wounded! And he was ready!!
[Time Remaining: 8 hours 43 minutes]