Arthur was sprinting through the vast woods as he was soaked from the drenched vegetation he ran past and the spiteful raindrops that pelted at him from above like needles. The blond hair he had that was once fluffy and in his mother's words, 'utterly adorable', is now dark beige and was clung onto his temple. His beautiful red attire that marked him as an infamous redcoat was now a dark burgundy and had splatters of mud newly adorned onto it. His white trousers were covered with even more mud and were now an ugly light grey. Running with his musket in hand, Arthur frankly had no idea where he was, let alone where he was going. He suddenly halted in place to find his bearings, if he had any. The forest looked the same from all angles. The blinding precipitation from above did not help much either. Arthur looked around noticing the horrible disadvantage of not being native to these parts. He was breathing heavy from all the running he had done. Oh, he longed for home in Yorkshire. Arthur was a pacifist who was forced into joining the British military by his parents when he turned eighteen. As he reflected upon that he quickly realized he was still young, a now twenty-one year old with his birthday just around the corner.
"I have to get out of here." He said aloud to himself in his notable British accent, "I already ran from my troop earlier so how hard can this be?"
Well making a break from a bunch of redcoats who walked in an uncanny, well- aligned crowd when you're standing in the back is pretty simple when an assertive downpour is bombarding the forest with an uproar of noise. He practically slipped away without anyone noticing and then darted to this current, confusing location. Arthur grinned at how easily he had gotten away even though now he was very well lost. Aggravated with himself and his situation, he furrowed his bushy brow, gritted his teeth, took a deep breath, and continued his journey to God knows where. Dodging trees and jumping over fallen logs was very taxing on his body and energy. He was never a very athletic child; in fact he longed to become a famous chef and live in France. Unfortunately Arthur's lack of cooking skills only ensured that his parents would send him to become a redcoat; he despised himself for that.
Suddenly Arthur tripped on a tree root and fell almost immediately. A nearby sharp rock gashed his face as he quickly descended to the moist, yet hard earth below him. He was too exhausted to pick himself up and continue his expedition to nowhere. The blood that was now spilling from the right side of face just added to his list of problems. Oddly, his vision had gotten blurry and in the failing process of him attempting to refocus his eyes, everything had gone black.