His mouth was almost salivating as he glared at it.
Its smooth fur, its beady eyes. Everything from its legs to its ears above felt attractive to him—he needed to eat it.
After leaving the cabin, Heath was unable to bring any form of food, not willing to slow himself down with carry-ons. Even more than that, he had genuinely expected to reach town in one night alone... he didn't think it would be almost a full twenty-four hours since he set off.
Before he could even think, his primal instincts took over, unsheathing his blade and steadily creeping towards its position.
Every step gave him more and more anticipation for its flesh. He pictured it smoked, he pictured it grilled, he even pictured it charred. It didn't matter much to him... he just needed food.
Lost in thought, however, he had slipped up—accidentally snapping a loose twig beneath his feet as the rabbit scattered somewhere off into the brush. Instantly, he could feel desperation start to take over, a frenzied leap towards its hind legs being all he could muster. The rabbit was too quick, however, the kick of its paw launching a bundle of dirt into his face as it ran.
His own sudden movement came at a detriment to himself, as well; ankle seething in awakened pain after he'd stumbled onto the ground below. Still, he considered himself lucky, face only mere inches away from a small yet pointed stone that jutted from out the soil.
He had regretted his own foolishness.
That didn't mean he was yet to give up, though. He steeled himself, whisking off into the brush and following its tracks within the still slightly-muddied soil. It didn't take long for him to catch another brief glimpse, silently squirming within a wild bush. He grimaced.
His movements were slower this time. More careful. He didn't let his greed or his gluttony get the better of his composure, reducing his pride to soft yet consistent breaths and slow yet concise maneuvers.
Just before he was about to strike, however, the rabbit simply did a repeat of what he had done before—leaping when Heath felt he was ready to make the blow. He still wasn't giving up.
Time after time, the same thing was repeated; the rabbit's cunning, or perhaps accidental genius of instinct, outwitted and outperformed the young man. It weaved through bushes, it jumped over logs, it crept in the shadows. Once the sun was completely void from the sky, the rabbit was as good as gone. Heath had failed to catch it.
He gave a slight sneer, as if mocking his own attempt. The night was thick and young, and he was far too unwilling to risk further pursuit.
Now, more than anything else, he needed shelter.
It was only when he desperately needed to know his location that it finally dawned on him... amidst the chase, he'd failed to maintain his sense of direction. It took him a moment to process, but once he finally did...
His heart dropped. He was lost.
Incompetent wasn't the correct word. Heath was leaning towards 'useless' or 'dead weight' in his mind. He reached back, picking his mind apart for any hint as to which way he could be facing. Of the things he managed to pull, he could've sworn the last remaining bits of light came from his right the last time he saw it.
He assumed he was still facing that direction, so he needed to do a one-eighty and continued pacing slightly off to the right. He assumed.
Still, it was the best lead he had. The last thing he wanted was a repeat of last night, encountering that disgusting slug and its tentacles again. Even worse, however, would be finding an eldritch that he had no information on. Then, his chances of death would be significantly higher.
He had known since he was a child, and since then reinforced by Eofa during his study sessions, that eldritch maintain an almost species-like uniformity. Not every eldritch is different, but not every eldritch is the same. It's more like subtle mutations between each form, but built off of the same genetic starting ground—the same genus.
The true count for genus variations remains completely unknown, Heath having already met two distinct types within the past seven years. Some are more common, in which are more documented aside from their unique mutations. The rare ones are the most deadly...
Undocumented and unknown. Beasts of myth, slayers of legends.
Heath got lucky when encountering the slug. It wasn't directly known by him, but it wasn't as dangerous as it could've been. Every new eldritch is another new chance of death, that only grows and grows and grows until it inevitably kills you.
Heath thought back to that as he walked through the brush and hoping he was moving in the correct direction. He used the same strategy, weaving through bushes and hiding behind trees. The last thing he wanted right now was to be seen, and he'd do anything to avoid confrontation.
He thought back to the bunny—how it'd jump and snake and beam around anything Heath had managed to throw at it.
That's exactly what he needed to be; perhaps what he already was. He needed to be like the rabbit.
He slid over logs, he ruffled past leaves. He never walked in a straight line, weaving like his life was on the line, all in an attempt to make his footsteps harder to follow and his body harder to predict.
This went on for a while. A while longer than he was comfortable with.
All this time, there wasn't a single landmark that he could abuse to his advantage. Nothing that even came close to a form of shelter.
He started to lose hope. He started to worry that he'd be found, some mutant creature that'd invent a new death specifically for him. His mind started to imagine it, so much so that his nerves felt like they were on fire.
It came quick, however.
Once he was spotted, it was already too late. He saw a swift shadow prance by his side, then the sudden whoosh of an appendage reach towards his neck.
He was dead... or at least he thought.
The last thing he would've expected to see, his eyes gaining the time to analyse what was happening, was that it wasn't an appendage at all.
It was the tip of an iron sword.
The silhouette was too dark to make out, but he could tell—it was human. Nobody he could recognize, too different in shape and size to be Eofa or someone from his cursed past. This was someone new.
Piercing the silence and the dark net that cast over them was their voice, a soft male tone with a tinge of curiosity...
"Who are you?"