Heavy flakes of snow fell softly through the thick canopy of forest. Ordinarily, the man’s stride was unmatched. His great legs easily trudging through the toughest terrain barreling over rock and log with the cadence of a mighty river. But tonight, was different. Tonight his momentum waned and the Oak planted his feet into the deep snow, remaining still.
The man leaned against a frozen tree panting heavily. Each labored breath hung in the air as if suspended in time. He looked down at his thigh and the blood pooling up below it. The heavy crimson was a stark contrast against the pure white snow, even in the dark.
The wounded hunter tore off part of his leggings around the arrow protruding from his leg and fashioned a tourniquet from the excess material, lashing it just above the injury.
As Eckardt worked to cut off the flow of blood, the clouds parted, and the moon appeared. Its light revealed a strange coloration around the wound. His skin had turned a pale green hue and dark veiny arms had branched out beneath the skin. A look of despondence flashed across the usually happy, hunter’s face.
Off in the distance, the sound of a branch snapping reverberated through the frozen forest. Eckardt's attacker was closing in. The Mighty Oak bowed to one knee and removed his longbow calmly setting it on the ground beside him. A dense fog enveloped the wood where the wounded hunter lay in wait.
Footsteps could be heard crunching lightly in the thick snow. The man from Lake-town drew a small hand-axe with one hand and a large knife with the other. Each step of his pursuer grew louder and louder and then, it was silent again.
Frozen leaves flickered from the tickle of wind and the Mighty Oak swung. The shriek of metal scraping metal could be heard as a black blur slipped past Eckardt’s sight and into shadow. The Lake-man gripped the haft of his axe tighter and roared in frustration. A faint cackle echoed in the distance. Eckardt winced as he felt a sting just below his neck. The skin from his collar bone to his right shoulder fell open and blood spattered across the snow. Eckardt’s breathing became shallower and he could no longer hear footsteps over the sound of his own heartbeat. The moonlight recoiled, and the forest grew darker.
Eckardt swung blindly, clawing at his pursuer like a wounded animal until his arms had no more strength to give and he slumped forward on both knees into the snow. It was then that the phantom emerged from the shadows like a bad dream.
The tall figure came forward holding a knife in each hand. The one in his right dripping with blood. He bent down to meet Eckardt’s gaze. The creature’s eyes were black mirrors dipped in silver edging and every so often they flickered with the light of the moon. He tilted his head slightly and he sniffed the side of Eckardt's cheek, surveying his prey hungrily.
“So, did you find what you were looking for Barding?” the creature taunted. Its face cold and impassive.
“Your master was fool to send you here," he continued. "Too bad you’ll never be able to hear his apology.”
Eckardt’s eye’s fluttered as if trying to answer but gasps of air were his only reply and darkness crept closer with each breath. Slowly, the creature became invisible against the backdrop of night sky and soon everything went black.
