He wasn't able to get much sleep that night.
Every now and again, he'd be awoken, sometimes from a noise—the cackling of thunder, the whistle of the winds, the shaking of the trees, the echo of slipping rocks, or even at times the simple downpour of the vigorous rain.
Alternatively, it was his own nerves biting at his conscience, even amidst his sleep. The rock he slept on was hard. Never would it be possible for him to get even the slightest of winks.
He was too jumpy. Too used to sleeping indoors. After all, he'd known firsthand that books are only a glimpse of reality. They can't compare to experience.
The sun was already up, however. He couldn't see its glow, light-grey clouds clogging the skies as the final whispers of rain pattered onto the forest floor below. No longer was it a storm, rather a slight drizzling one would expect befitting of the early hours of day.
Given a few hours, the rain would be sure to cease. That being said, Heath didn't have time to wait.
Slowly, he lifted himself from his stony coffin, rubbing the side of his sore neck and shoulder before gripping his blade, placed just beneath the rock and leaning against its shelf. He tightened the holster, firmly planting the tip to its end and groggily approaching the mouth of the inlet.
He was tired, yes, but the sweet scent of petrichor and the still light specs of rain, mixed with the damp air, was oddly freshening. He didn't let it fool him, however. He'd only have a few hours before his stamina would give out.
He set off, not caring for his clothes to dampen or the winds to get him sick. All that mattered was safety. He needed to reach civilization.
The forest was thick, however. It was almost like a subtle statement, one he didn't wish to hear, that reaching town would be impossible. He couldn't be far, however. He refused to believe that he was.
That didn't mean he expected the walk to be anything but brutal, mind you. He was prepared for the worst, already in just a matter of minutes regretting the trek in the first place. His ankle, still with the wound and seething pain carried from the night before, made it almost impossible to hold flat. Instead, he precariously lifted the back of his heel as he walked, a limp forming in succession.
Still plagued by the thoughts of last night, however, time almost seemed to fly by. Amidst the filtered glow of light from above, the forest took on a new form, one different from the night prior. He was well aware there'd be eldritch stalking its depths, but at least he was blessed with vision.
But if he could see... that means they'd be able to as well.
He moved from tree to tree, bush to bush, all in an attempt to reduce his visibility as much as possible. He had learned it from the books—eldritch, while showing no signs of higher cognition, often follow predatory instincts seen in wolves or panthers. They always attack when you least expect it, the same reason why the darkness is so deadly in the first place.
This isn't a one-size-fits-all scenario, however. Some simply act to kill, no matter the conditions. Others are more reserved, while some are straight up unpredictable.
That being said, stalking and ambushing remained the most common nature of these beasts. Heath needed to be on his toes at all times, needed to not be seen or heard amidst the living forest. The rain made that easy, blending sound and visual noise to allow for harder tracking. It washed away his bloody and fleshly scent, just as his footsteps would be quick to dissolve in the mud that surrounded him.
It wouldn't last long, however.
After only a few hours, the rain had stopped coming, skies beginning to clear with only a few exceptions of looming clouds. The wind was still cold and damp, but everything else had died. The rain was likely what kept him alive. To him, cold winds were near to useless. He had nothing to cover his tracks. He was exposed.
The hunger had also started to bite away at him, desperately searching for anything he could eat: a rogue berry bush, fruits hanging from a tree, or an animal he could hunt.
Whenever he did, it felt almost too good to be true... because it was. Walking snakes of bark that blended with the trees, birds that flew overhead, far out of sight to be reached, or the occasional berry, which with their sickly red and velvet tones, managed to reek of poison to his brain.
He was too cautious to take that risk.
So instead, he kept walking. And walking. And walking. every time he'd hear a noise, he'd walk far in the opposite direction. Every time he though he saw the shadow of a vaguely eldritch entity, he moved far, far away, even if that meant backtracking just to avoid it.
This cost him hours. Seemingly, he was no closer to any form of civilization.
Peering to the skies overhead through the bits the thick trees would allow, he could tell it was getting dark. The sun was beginning to set.
He had no way of knowing if he was close or far. He was stranded in the woods, no shelter and no food. He was exhausted, battered, and bruised, and he wanted out.
He just wanted to relax.
But then... he saw it. The shadow only slightly off from his position, within a small clearing he'd be blind to miss. It wasn't of an eldritch or anything else that would've caused him to flee in a panicked terror...
At first, he struggled to make out its figure. By instinct, anything that moved caused his hand to fling to his blade, though once he made it out amidst the bushes and darkening skies, he began to hold his blade for a different reason entirely.
It was a rabbit. Or in his eyes...
It was food.