Sounds of sticks and leaves in the wind
Rough and uneven terrain
A light, swift sound,
Blade unsheathed
Prepared for anything

Extended arm, sword in hand
Warm leather handle
Blood splattered, clothes stained
Groups of bandits enclosing in
Running, light breeze against my face

Rugged area makes it hard to move
I’m running out of breath
I try my best to dodge deep holes
But it’s not enough
I trip and fall and sharp pain hits everywhere

I try to crawl away, but they catch up
The ground is cold and uncomfortable
All sounds stopped for a second
The sound of a bowstring interrupts
My muscles tighten and I constrain

Cutting through the wind, an arrow
The ground now stained with blood
Sounds of nature is only to be heard
As my body lay to decay in this dense forest