Walking the Path Chosen
Prologue: The Runaway
by deadkitty1
With the wind absent in the woods, he concentrates on concealing his breaths from making even a slight sound. He even dismisses the sound going down his throat as he swallows. Little by little, the boar passes by unaware of the hunter lurking just behind the shadows. Patiently, he grasps his bow, waiting for the prey to come into view. Every nerve in his body wants to spring into action and it is with little self-control that he readies his arrow, prizing the attack to follow. Within seconds, the click of the string warns the prey and before he has time to recover, he lets the arrow fly, grazing the animal as it runs away. He curses loudly, giving away his chance at catching anything as most of the critters scurry in fright. Patience is one of the virtues he has yet to overcome, especially with such a prize staring him in the face.
He brushes it off as he goes to retrieve the arrow, wondering if it's worth the effort to set a trap. The graze on the animal isn't dire, but it could have been enough to injure it. He's been wandering in the woods for days and the meager rice he packed isn't enough to sustain such a deep hunger.
The boy grabs a dagger as he follows the trail of blood, hoping for another chance at a kill. If need be, he knows he can go find a village to stock up on supplies. Time isn't a mistress he follows. He only serves himself until the cold hands of death overtake him.
It's been four months since his father's passing. Day by day seems like a monotonous routine to him as the faces of the people he meets and talks to blur together. He remembers their comforting words joined with gifts, but it isn't needed. His father's passing is one he foresaw three years before when his own mother died. Once the sickness took her, it was only a matter of time before his father followed. His father tried his best to keep living, putting it upon himself to search for one goal after another to keep going. The man would go out of his way assisting the people, the king, even his own son. Maybe the boy took it for granted as he remembers expending the spare energy his father had left at the end of each day. When his father left, the boy stayed in his room for days overcome with grief and guilt. It wasn't until one day, in his dreams, did he gain a purpose that brings him to this particular part of the woods wandering for days on end. The fishing spot. Their fishing spot. He needed to find it.
The trail stops and he comes upon a boar dead with an arrow through the neck. Quickly, he gazes through the trees and the branches with full attention. It's an odd feeling as the boy suddenly finds himself the hunted among these mysterious intruders. He can't believe how careless he was. He could sense he was being followed but he didn't foresee them attacking in daylight. These men have some guts.
"Who's there?" the boy calls out.
When his call fails to gain an answer, he tries another approach. While slowly reaching for his pocket, his eyes scan the area for the slightest movement. He spots a glint of metal shining just behind a bush a couple of feet in front of him. He stops to note the hiding place clearly in his head as he goes for his next plan of attack.
"I do not want any trouble. I'm going to reach in my shirt and leave you my money," he said, aware any movement can trigger an attack.
He takes out a pouch filled with coins and shakes it to show the audience of the bag's authenticity. Carefully, he places the money right next to the dead animal as he slowly backs away. He'd rather lose his money than lose his life.
Just as he thought he is in the clear, a figure drops down from the branches to pounce on him. On impulse, he slashes the air to find nothing there. An arm juts out from the side knocking the dagger right out of his hand. With little time to raise his fists, he groans as the thief hits him hard on the side, buckling his stomach. Then as the pain embraces his body, another loud thump bonks him directly on the head and he's down before he ever had a chance. His last memory are the brilliant eyes of his attacker staring down at him.
The victor gets to work tying the boy and blindfolding him. Once finished, two other similar figures emerge as they gather the pig and the boy's things with them. They chat lively with no guilt to their action. As they start heading out, carrying the unconscious boy with them, a distinct red crescent moon can be seen on a patch of the people's uniforms.
The boy has no understanding of the type of people who could have been following. If anything, thieves would he the least of his worries. He would never consider a band such as the notorious Red Crescent Moon Army to look for him. After all, he's nothing but a runaway, a runaway named Choi Young.