WARNING: Please make sure you read the Pro-Introduction before starting this story. Tags: Emotional Trauma, Fight Scenes, Angst, Intensity that's bound to keep you on the edge of the seat. (I'm a comedian).

Normal Talk

'Thoughts'

Prisoner of the Forest

Prologue – Drawing Moths To The Flame

The firewood crackles as it eats away the leafs nestled with the stone circle. Its fire warm and bright, gave shape to the encircling trees, as he laid nearby. The young man was staring into the flames, watching them dances in flickering waves, gently moving with the force of whispering wind. And gifted with the sense that he was born with, he drifts with his soul towards the fire, welcoming, inviting, so much like home.

But behind golden irises, brutal, vicious images played over and over in his mind. He no longer felt the drifting notion. Not welcomed, but cold.

His fault.

He recites the betrayed expression in ocean blue eyes that belonged to an enemy-turned-almost-alley, as he vividly remembers aiming the experienced shot towards her body.

His fault.

The memory twists into something more profound as guilt settles in his gut. The memory reveals that of golden irises equal to his own. One moment – calculating, innocent. The next, victorious, merciless.

His fault.

Those elder eyes that had been so warm, ever twinkling with mischief, turned disappointed – withdrawn from love.

Looking back, it did not matter, with the promise of home within his grasp, he could not fail now! He had to do it. To be honoured. To be respected. To be acknowledged by his farther once more without taint to his very existence. Everything he could have ever hoped for.

But that was then.

The battle had spun beyond recognition, into a feverous nightmare. Troops of Di Lee flanks left and right, pressing forward. Water and ice were flying, being deflected. The earth rumbles and shook with every manoeuvre. Fire lashes, whips across the stones, making the atmosphere heat up and rise tension with being so close to threating attacks. Then suddenly, a bright beam of light appears, he knew what it was now, but not then. And it radiates with such power and gravity that he almost forgot to breath.

Then he saw the white light, and at that moment, he felt it, and would remember.

Remember with clarity, the distraught look of those ocean sapphires water from emotion; looking down onto the beaten boy cradling in her arms. Then carrying herself, and the boy through the ceiling in retreat.

Remember with anguish, the golden irises grow into near slits with delight, a smirk to match. Then stand before the only remaining enemy present, pointing, and utter words that muffles soundlessly against his ears, but at the same time, hears as clearly as ringing a bell.

He would remember with everlasting regret, the old eyes stare back in defeat, excepting posture relaxed as he became encase in a tomb of glowing crystals and then –

'No!'

The boys' eyes opens wide, heart bounding in his chest, his stomach caving in, and he tried to breath.

Breath.

The boy by the fire inhales quickly twice, and exhales a slow, steady breath many times. Grasping his senses, he stares into the dying embers of his once lit camp fire, and he ponders how long he has been asleep. He rubs palms into his eye sockets, forcing them to adjust to the midday light. Before he could answer himself, a sharp snap slices the air into silence, and he scrambles to his feet, duo-swords drawn. He hushes his breath and waits for the cause of the forests uncanny silence. Not ten seconds later, he caught a glimmer of something to his left, and he treads carefully towards it. Using the broad side of one sword, he moves the covering brush gently to the side.

'A wire?'

Eyes narrow, he brings his head level to the wire, following the path of the wire with his eyes. Under the shadow of trees, the trip wire blends into the darkness from either side. If there was a wire, then it must lead somewhere. He toes over the wire, and follows the wire cautiously further into the woods, pressing his feet to the ground with experience stealth. After a minuet, he came to a small clearing in the forest, and saw from the edge where he stood a stake that had been hammered into the ground, with a wire that coils around it.

He never let his gaze waver from the stake in the centre of the clearing as he dips down to cut the tense wire with the flick of a wrist. From above, expectantly, a large tent fell from the trees and lands with a dull thump. Unimpressed, he steps out from the shadows and made head way towards the pre-fail trap, mid motion of placing his swords onto his back. He steps once, and next his head made contact sharply with the ground beneath as his ankle jerked forwards with a force that had him loose his footing.

In a blink of an eye, everything was upside down. Dizzy from the unrespecting, and dare he say, successful trap, his vision doubles, the back of his head throbs, and one leg hung loosely under the strain of gravity. The swinging motion did not soften his dizziness as he looks up? Down? To his trapped ankle. Teeth grating together he saw the coils wrap tightly round his right ankle, biting into his clothed skin. Instinctively, he reaches for his dagger that had fell from its sheath to the floor – out of his reach. Then hands made for his swords – which were not there. Whipping his head round, he found them scattered off to the side. And right next to them, stood a figure.

The figure stood still for a moment, but advances slowly, his footsteps jars outwards, slightly limping. Bringing a hand to his eyes as he attempts to catch a glimpse of the other's face, but the sun light behind the figure obscures his vision.

"Well well, fancy findin' you hangin' around, aye, Lee?" Wait, he knew that voice. Just as the figure came close enough to make out subtle characteristics, the only thing he notices was a familiar blade of wheat grass, before a blunt object knocks him out cold.

To Be Continued...