The forest literally flew by as Mathias bounded his way through the damp foliage. Nothing seemed to be its own shape to him as he ran; it would all melt together into abstract shapes and swirls of colors. He ran so fast that he could not decipher what was what. It all gave him a headache. But, he refused to stop running. The wolves were after him again—just like in every other insane dream that he had.
Mathias’s lungs burned with the white hot intensity of a thousand suns as he dodged hundreds upon hundreds of trees. All of this running was useless. The wolves were nearing him at an alarming rate—their footfalls grew louder and louder with every second that they ran. He could literally hear their light breathing—barely fazed from all the running due to their extreme athleticism—just behind him, and he knew that they would eventually catch him…just like every other time he had this dreams.
Trying to shove the noises that the wolves made into the back of his head, Mathias still bounded down the jumbled forest. But before he knew it, he was in the air. His foot had caught on a snarled root that had seemed to shoot out of the ground to trip him. It was almost like the tree connected to that root wanted the wolves to get him…again. In every other dream that he had, he never tripped over a tree, the wolves always seemed to catch up to him, but this time, the tree wanted him to fail; wanted to give him to the wolves.
Wiping mud off his face, he staggered onto his feet, his white shirt caked with mud. Something about the forest seemed way too different to Mathias: everything in his surroundings seemed quiet…too quiet. Everything was dead—no noise, nothing. Before he had the chance to breathe, a low growl pierced the air; it was from the wolves; he knew it. But, the growl was too quiet to be from all the wolves, and that small and very unimportant fact sparked Mathias’s interest. He couldn’t help but to take a small glance over his right shoulder at his enemy; a single white wolf stood out in his line of sight. Its teeth were bared, and it stood, with its front right paw forward. A whole army of black wolves stood behind the white one, all of their bright golden eyes burning into his alongside the pair of pale blue eyes the white wolf had.
The white wolf looked as if it had the intentions of killing poor Mathias, and he knew that it was going to happen sooner or later. Beginning to lose his patience with the wolves, Mathias’s eyes burned back into the white wolf’s. The light electric blue glow in the wolf’s eyes began to slowly change; they formed deep red flames, flickering inside the wolf’s head. The flames of hell now exploded into Mathias’s eyes, and it didn’t faze him one bit—it didn’t faze him once at all physically, but mentally, he was afraid that he was about to collapse.
Just as he phased out of his trance, Mathias discovered that now he completely faced the army of wolves. “No,” he growled through his clenched teeth. “Not this time.”
The wolf’s eyes widened in rage, and its growling intensified—almost as if it understood him—and, it lunged at once at him. Its jaws opened, all of its teeth shining a brilliant white. Everything seemed to move in slow motion for Mathias; a snarl of rage exploded from his lungs as he sprang at the wolf, arms outstretched, ready to snatch at the wolf’s neck before it got to him.
Quickly, the wolf’s pale blue eyes met Mathias’s bright green eyes.
All Mathias saw after that was black.
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