Makoto dared a glance behind him as he heard the Northerners gaining distance on him. Dusk was approaching the stormy day, and the weight of defeat already drug his shoulders down. The sight of a warband of no less than fifteen followed him armed with axes, spears, and the occasional bow.
Makoto almost wished he hadn't looked behind him. It was a rookie mistake to take his eyes off of where he was running, yes, but the thought of what would happen to him propelled him forward faster than even the winds. Terror was a great motivator after all.
Dodging around tree trunks thicker than he was tall, high enough to pierce clouds and roots thick enough to craft coffins out of Makoto only felt panic. It fueled his body and his mind and allowed him to weave over the roots and around the shrubbery that permeated every pace of the forest.
Keeping his eyes up, Makoto began to plan his ext step before even taking his current one. 'Find a river, follow it downstream and find a town. Then rally the-' Makoto's thought process was cut off as his left shoulder erupted in pain. He staggered, reaching up and finding the head of an arrow poking through the front of his shoulder.
Doing this caused him to lose his footing and as a consequence he missed his next step, falling onto and over another of the massive roots. Makoto thanked the spirits as he noticed this particular root was rotten and hollow. Hiding was a surefire way to get killed, but with his left arm pierced with an arrow that may or may not be poisoned he was in no state for a test of endurance.
Makoto heard the northerners approach, saw the faint glow of the torches and held his breath. They were saying something in that guttural language of theirs, but they didn't appear to have spotted him. They didn't even hesitate near his root, instead lumbering passed without so much as a glance backwards.
Makoto didn't get up for what felt like hours after they passed, though he was sure the pain in his arm has something to do with that. By the time he dared to crawl out of the root, dusk had long given way to night. Wounded, no supplies, no fire, and no bearings, Makoto began to walk into the dark. Despite all of that, the thing that truly discouraged Makoto was the lack of his Moon.
Makoto continued to trudge through the night, every twitch of his shoulder causing a spike of pain through his entire arm. If the time he had spent under the root had felt like hours, then the time he spent walking half lucid with pain must have been years. At some point along his trek he had twisted his leg in an awkward way, so his wounded pace from before easily gapped his now near crippled pace.
Makoto truly didn't think he would make it out of this alive. The last of the Kyoshin, felled by an arrow wound and fatigue. More than that however, he could feel it. The lack of moonlight to guide him was the only indication he needed that his end was soon. The stormy night had not yet given to rain, but the clouds blotted out any light that might have filtered down.
Still he walked on, for what other choice did he have? The Spirit Eater still roamed, causing untold strife and chaos. If Makoto fell, the last one to hear the plights of spirits, to care for the fallen after their time, then the mantle would lay forever dormant. So he kept moving, one step after another, his mind beginning to numb from the pain.
This continued for hours, with Makoto's condition deteriorating considerably. Losing all feelings and nerves in his left arm made him switch to carrying his sheathed sword in his right hand. Using it as a cane to help against the twisted ankle, Makoto began to lose hope.
Then, just as he had been about to collapse, it happened. The moon in all of its silvery, glorious incandescence, peeked through the gloomy clouds for a moment. A moment was all that Makoto needed though, as he fell to his knees overwhelmed. He hadn't been abandoned after all.
As the moon was returned to its captivity behind the clouds, Makoto began to walk towards it, having been granted the grace of guidance. Every step he took shot pain through his leg and every breath he took burned his legs, making his eyes begin to water. He kept them up though, to where his Moon had broke through the black canvas of night, and continued towards his goal. He knew not what lied in that direction, he had no desire to know. Makoto just knew that he had to go.
The spot the moon had appeared had been just above the horizon, which meant dawn was approaching. Dawn meant death, Makoto was sure. He pushed himself to the brink, gathering multiple more cuts on his body from shrubs and branches. No longer having any feeling in either of his legs, and his right arm growing stiff from using his sheathed sword as a can, Makoto felt his energy wane.
With tears of frustration and pain leaking out of his eyes, Makoto continued to walk despite everything. Yet one can only walk for so far, can only persevere for so long before the human body reached its limit. As Makoto's eyes began to droop, he passed a a tree and saw the second most glorious sight in the world.
Fire.
Seeing this, Makoto couldn't keep himself up any longer. As he collapsed in front of bonfire, body and mind pushed to the brink of exhaustion, he had time for one final thought.
'Thank you, my Moon' was the final thought on Makoto's mind as he succumbed to the abyss of unconsciousness.
