The man staggered into the clearing, struggling and gasping for breath. His clothes were torn and ragged, his shoes were shredded pieces clinging to the sticky blood that were seeping out of the wounds on his dirt encrusted feet. His hair - which was once a light blonde - appeared a burgundy colour; mattered with dirt, leaves, sticks and blood.
The man looked around quickly with terrified grey eyes, stumbling to the edge of the clearing before realizing that the only way out was the way he came.
'No! I'm not going to die today!'
Sharp jiggered rocks jutted out from the mountain, and the man clawed desperately at them as he tried to climb. His blunt nails did not help, and his hands were bathed in red. He slid down but tried grasping onto small cracks that were imbedded in the rocks. His body failed him, and he fell backwards into the icy cold lake.
The man didn't appear to care though, struggling to his feet and dragging himself out of the crystal clear water.
Cold biting wind clawed at his deathly pale skin and invaded his lungs, making it even harder to draw in the sacred substance that surrounded him.
His legs collapsed to the ground, the lush green grass sticking to his knees and hands. The man didn't give up though – he dragged himself across to the rocks again and desperately pulled himself up with the little energy he had left.
He was too late though. Cold seeped into the hair, invading his mind and soul and the man gave up all hope. He had the feeling that the sun had gone out, leaving the world cold and dead.
His hands released the rock he had been clutching with all his might, and laid limply beside him as his body sunk to the grass.
Shadows surrounded the grey eyed man, the creatures appearing to be laughing and mocking the dying human before them.
"They're here," he breathed. The man squeezed his eyes shut, his lips being covered in something slimy and the man was vaguely reminded of frostbite.
Then, he knew no more.