(Play: Vale of Tears.)
Choosing the left path might have not been the best idea ever. Howling is heard in the distance and seems to be growing closer every second. Wolves, they are hunting. Usually they stay away from human beings, but this is not exactly a usual place. Better not take chances. Setting off at a run, the trees and strange vegetation fly past you, but it does not seem like you are gaining any distance from the growling. In fact, it seems to be getting closer.
Panicking, run even faster. Get away, just need to get away from this madness. Is that too much to ask? A sickly dark green bush blocks path. Pushing it out of the way you step forward and suddenly… you are falling… and falling and falling until your right wrist is caught in some branches. Pain slithers down the said arm, and it feels as though it is about to be yanked out of its socket. Squeezing your eyes shut to keep back the tears, you slowly pull up the rest of your body and start to climb the cliff, using rock edges (some sharp, causing deep cuts) roots and what not you are finally over the top.
Breathe. In, out, in out. Looking at detain at the path you think, 'Maybe not all places are better than here. I do like to live, memory or not, being alive is nice, yes?' Back to the drawing board. At least the wolves are not chasing any more. No more growls or howls. Gave up easily, didn't they? Or was that all inside your head as well?
(Go back to Page 31.)