Here's a mentioning from the author:
If you're looking for fluff, mindless rambling, and countless unintentional grammatical errors...
This fic is not for you.
-Lycan
Night moved swiftly to blanket the Black Forest. Feverishly, he stumbled through knee-high undergrowth hounded by both the fear and sweat clinging to his back. Yet as he panted with weariness and shook from exhaustion, rest was some far away fantasy; and oasis invisible. So he continued in the forever shadows of scowling trees, doggedly and hunted. Lost. The summer brush echoing bitterly underfoot was joined in pain with his aching, wheezing breath. Lost, he carried on. When he fell, dark trees would muffle his cries to silence. Wavering, he would stand again nursing his wounds. Onward in flight, chased by those he could not see. Only the creeping tendrils of dawn saw him prostrate upon the earth, claimed by nightmares. It was not the sounds of birds he was greeted with upon awakening, but the fierce snarl of thunder and the howling wind. Whimpering, he crawled beneath a tree, taking refuge from the seeping wet leaked by the towering canopy. So complete was his misery, poignantly displayed by cheeks stained by tears. So utter was his despair. But fear can smother all emotion so that when the storm passed he continued on, half-dead; a ghost in reverse. Torn apart by fear. Fear and the injustice done. For both, he was lost.
Chapter I
"Bullocks."
Draco cursed softly as he stared at the mushroom in his hand, deciding whether or not to eat it. Certainly the gray fungus looked harmless. As far as fungi go though, one could never be too sure.
The filtered green light of the forest glowed damply around him, still dripping from the recent storm. Hyperaware of his sodden, dirty, and exhausted state he shuddered involuntarily.
Perhaps the mushroom would kill him?
For a moment Draco seriously considered this thought, but discarded it along with the mushroom. It thudded softly in the mud. He knew he'd never have the courage to knowingly consume a poison. Never the strength to hurt himself, let alone take his life. He sighed, bitterness welling within him and acute hunger pinching his stomach. Three days of this incessant pain, gnawing away like a worm on his insides.
Did this hunger make him more aware? Sharpen his senses?
A petty thought. The only awareness he had was of his feverish, sickly form trembling from abuse. And the trees seemed to echo his discomfort, shivering from an unseen breeze. The ambient light was dissipating, heralding the coming of night. An ominous, dripping dark crawling about to form an unbearable coffin, suffocating and all consuming him until not but an echo remains.
A chill of panic ran up Draco's spine, urging and overwhelming. But it was a repeated chill and he knew not to listen, not to run blindly like the night before. It wasn't the dark that hunted him anyway.
And besides that, he couldn't run if he wanted to.
But walk he must. So Draco walked, or more like stumbled between indistinguishable trees, shrubs, and various other forest objects. Up and down the rolling landscape, one foot precariously in front of the other, trying his best not to think about who or where he was. Most of all why he was there. Those thoughts were painful and took energy he did not have. Like a zombie he moved for some time through the woodland, which was losing its color even faster now. Up, down, up…
Draco found himself looking down into a small clearing containing a big bump and two little bumps.
Boulders perhaps?
In the growing dark it was hard to tell. He hoped to whatever god was out there for the lumps to be boulders. Slowly inching forward he squinted to see the dark objects. It was no good though, for all three remained stubbornly fuzzy and gray. Draco unconsciously reached for his wand, only to quell his dread when he remembered it wasn't there. As a recourse he picked up a hefty stick, not really knowing whether or not it would do much good against three boulder-sized something-or-others. Regardless, he continued to creep up to the clearing; his feet picking their way through the leaf litter, avoiding noise.
Near the edge now, he involuntarily gripped a tree in an effort not to panic.
It was a crude mistake, however, for at the sound of bark being crushed beneath Draco's grasp the mother bear whipped her head around.
Maybe she was blind?
It was a foolish thought; Draco knew this as he desperately looked for an escape. The bear emitted a blood chilling growl and paced forward.
He dared not even breathe, like a deer staring down a semi. Only this semi had fangs two inches long and the strength to use them. The cubs moved behind their mother, which seemed to only channel her aggression.
With a roar, she charged.
It was alarming how fast she moved and even more so how fast Draco had darted, given his condition, away and around the perimeter of the clearing. She was quicker though, and with a mere swat batted him off his feet and into a heap on the ground. He screamed in blind terror as she bore down upon him. Desperately, he lashed at her with a kick. She however caught his leg in her gaping mouth and, not bothered by her flailing quarry, shattered his leg above the knee in one sickening clamp.
Draco howled ghoulishly as pain shocked his body, hot blood pouring from the bear's mouth and pooling upon the dirt. As if he were some perverse chew toy, she sat down and placed a paw thoughtfully upon his abdomen. His shrieking was renewed as she attempted to remove his leg but instead was rewarded with a snap as his kneecap splintered.
Draco clawed at the earth desperately, searching for something, anything…
And his hand came across the glorious stick.
With an almost Herculean effort, he brought the limb cracking cleanly against the bear's head. She complied by dropping him in plain confusion. Praying for refuge, Draco looked about and was rewarded with a half-uprooted tree. He seized those roots and hauled himself into the earthen pit within, just missing the snapping jaws of the bear whose fury had redoubled. She circled like a shark around a diver's cage, unable to squeeze between the ancient roots. His leg throbbed, weeping blood as he lay there intensely in pain and drifting through the edge of consciousness. The she-bear, digging and bellowing at the dirt, thrust a violent paw at Draco only to have him roll away further beneath the tree.
Her voice faded and only his haggard breathing remained.
And then nothing…
God I hate bears. I really do.
LOOK! It's a bird. It's a plane. It's...a flock of inquiries that this chapter was supposed to have raised!
Why is our hero out in the woods? Why doesn't he have a wand? Will he survive?! (okay, stupid question)
Read more and find out.
Be polite and review.
Join the revolution.
Next chapter comes in about a week.
-Lycan