Freedom for the Innocent

          It was humid.  Not the sort of humid that keeps children inside on summer days, but the kind of soaking, seeping humid that drives people mad.  The sun beamed mercilessly down on the lush forest, evaporating any morning dew that may have still existed from the dawn.  A single figure sat stone faced under a tree, taking up the space of rare, priceless shade.  He wore a hood around his head and his only visible possession was a small silver flask, undoubtedly filled with water.  Bringing it up to his dry lips, he took a small swig and set the rest down on to the crispy, yellow grass that he sat on.  Staring up into the sky, he silently wondered when the hell it had become so hot.  He had been on the run in these woods for three days now, and the weather had started out perfect.  Now it resembled an inferno.  The cloudless sky seemed to overtake him as he stared up into the endless abyss of blue, so he quickly turned away and scanned the terrain. 
         
          There were so many trees here that he had forgotten which direction was which within hours of his escape from the prison.  He tried desperately to remember where north was.  What was that rule about the moss on trees, he wondered?  Moss grows to the east, or was it the west?  The effort was useless, he remembered none of that nature shit from when he was a child. 
         
          There was no wind, and the stillness of the trees only added to his frustration at the day.  Would he die here?  Perhaps, but he really didn’t care enough to do anything about it.  There was already a bounty on his head, and his life was forfeit whether or not he had committed the crime that he was charged for.  They would never listen to him back in the city anyway.  Not one jury member would believe that he was actually trying to save the poor family who had been murdered in front of his eyes.  No, he was the enemy now, and he was on the run.  He decided to put up with the heat and start walking again.  He couldn’t stand to sit any longer.
         
          After endless hours of walking he was completely drenched in sweat.  He could feel his exposed skin charred and raw due to the sun, and his flask of water was as dry as the grass around him.  All hope seemed lost, he would die here and nobody would ever find him.  After thinking for a while, he began to wonder if death was the better fate to being charged for a murder he did not commit.  His deep thoughts were interrupted by a sound all too familiar to be ignored.  It was the sound of water.  Water rushing against rocks, lapping up against the muddy edges of earth.  Breaking out into a sprint, he thrashed through the walls of vegetation until he finally saw it.  A simple creek, less than a foot deep, but a creek nonetheless.  He immediately threw himself in, and in this lapse of insanity he was at peace.  Everything seemed to get a little cooler as he drank from the edge of the stream, and he could swear that the wind was beginning to pick up.  No longer thirsty, he laid down in the green, lush grass and closed his eyes. 
         
          Minutes later, something interrupted his sleep.  His eyes cracked open, and he refused to move.  The sun had taken a toll on his body, and his scorched skin had become far too painful to ignore.  Silence surrounded him, all except for the chirping of crickets in the calm of dusk.  Just then, he could hear a stick crack somewhere close by.  The crickets stopped.  Bearing the pain, he sat up and scanned the endless maze of leaves.  That was just an animal, that’s it.  Relax.  Another snap.  The rustle of branches.  They couldn’t have found me, not way out here.  His fears were justified when a young man strode out of the trees, sword in hand.
         
          “You sure are a slippery one, I’ve been hunting you for days,” he said, a light smirk appearing on his sharp, bristled face.  “Thomas Kyre, wanted for murder.  Three-hundred gold piece reward.  Am I not correct?”
         
          Kyre didn’t answer.  Part of his brain was frantically searching for a solution, and the other part was begging him to surrender already.  He was in far too much pain to continue this pointless escape.  The man seemed to be getting impatient.  His clothes, though much higher quality than Kyre’s, were soaked in sweat, and his dark brown hair was matted down with moisture.
         
          “I have no time to waste with you.  Dead or alive, I’ll get that reward.  Quite frankly I don’t feel like having to give another person enough water for the journey back.
         
          With that, he raised his sword clumsily and charged at Kyre.  Thinking quickly he drew his only weapon, a small but sharp dagger, and slung it with deadly accuracy at the man.  It sunk deep into his right arm, causing him to drop his sword and clutch at the wound.  Leaving no time for him to recover, Kyre charged at him and pushed him back into the rough bark of a tree.  After a few seconds of exhausting struggle, they broke free of their entanglement.  No novice to fighting, Kyre entered his balanced fighting stance and waited for the bounty hunter to make the first move.  When he did, it was a sloppy left hook.  Obviously he was only proficient with his now injured right side.  Taking note of this, Kyre came on strong, throwing a jab at the man and following it with a sharp kick to the right.  It hit him square in the side of the head and he dropped to the ground unconscious.
         
          Completely exhausted, Kyre quickly filled his flask with fresh water and hit the endless paths of the forest again.  They would send more, and he would fight.  He would fight until they gave up, and he could live his life in peace.  The sun set over the lush hills, and suddenly it was obvious which direction was which.  He turned to the north and disappeared in the shadows of the night.