Chapter 1
Christopher crouched low to the ground. His bare arms pressed against the cool, damp moss, giving him goosebumps. The crisp morning air tossed his curly locks about. He held his breath and crawled noiselessly forward. Peering through the dense fog, he scanned the area around him. The dark pines got in the way of his view and made it even harder to see. Because of the early hour, very few forest animals were awake. All was quiet and still in the wood.
At last, the muffled crunch of other creatures stepping on dead leaves broke the silence. Christopher's head slowly turned to the left, where he saw a small herd of deer approaching. His prey had arrived. He hastily reached for his bow and singled out one of the stragglers that was limping behind the rest. As he slipped his weapon off his shoulder, he accidentally bumped his quiver. The noise of the rustling arrows made his target look up. Christopher froze. The deer glanced around and then continued to eat.
He let out the pent-up air inside his lungs. Trying to be as quiet as possible, he strung his bow. It was an old bow, given to him by his step father five years ago. He was only ten at the time, and he had treasured it ever since he had received it. Its arrow shelf was raw from extended years of use. The bowstrings were aged and worn, but he hoped they would last until he was done hunting.
He finally strung it and aimed for his quarry. The strings were pulled taught and he was just about to release them when-
SNAP! The bowstring broke and whipped Christopher across the face. He fell to the ground, startling the deer. The herd bounded quickly away. Christopher, now lying on his back, snarled and felt his face. When he brought his hand away, it was sticky with bright red blood. He shouted loudly, scaring even more animals away. His cry had no purpose; it was entirely out of anger. He felt as if all that he had been working for was lost. He realized that now his family would have no meat at all during the winter months. His anger slowly turned to fear. He imagined how angry his step father would be when he came home with nothing. No, not angry. Furious.
Christopher was still for several moments. He became calm once again; he sighed and pushed himself up. He peered at his newly deceased bow, took it with him, and slowly made his way to a small creek. Because this autumn was warmer than most this year, melted snow was still flowing from the mountains up higher. He scooped freezing water onto his face, not only cleaning his cut but numbing it as well. Christopher drank another scoopful of the cold liquid and gazed at his reflection. Emerald eyes stared back at him, and he ran his fingers through his curly, dark brown hair. He was tall for his age; he was even taller that his step brother, Freed, who was sixteen. He sighed once again and turned to grab his backpack. As he moved, something caught his eye.
A small, green crystal was sitting at the bottom of the creek. It glowed unnaturally under the frigid water. It was not large; only the size of his thumb. He reached right into the icy flow of water to get it. The crystal was not cold like the creek; in fact, it felt warm to the touch. As he held the crystal in his palm, Christopher thought it was getting warmer and warmer. He decided it was just his imagination.
Then his hand got burned. He dropped it. When it hit the ground, the crystal stopped glowing and turned a dull emerald. More cautious now, Christopher reached out and poked the rock with his finger. Nothing.
Confident that it would not hurt him again, he grabbed the strange crystal, slipped it into the bag that was over his shoulder, and began his trek back home.