[THOMAS'S POV]

August 4, 1338

Thud!

Crack!

Agony surged through me as I landed, the impact shattering one of my leg bones. The searing pain shot through my body, but the urgency to escape propelled me forward, overriding the distress. With gritted teeth and a muffled curse, I staggered towards the stable, driven by the imperative need for a swift exit.

My heart sank as I arrived at the stable, finding the horses in a deep slumber. Panic seized me—those stableboys must have drugged them, rendering the animals immobile. Frustration surged within me as I racked my brain for any possible solution at this dire moment. This inn, I recalled, lay along the path to Christchurch, approximately a mile from here. However, a critical detail sparked hope within me—mere 200 meters away flowed the River Stour. My knowledge about the river's current was scant, but it presented a potential escape route.

Desperation fueled my resolve as I swiftly considered my options. Despite the excruciating pain, my determination to evade the assailants' pursuit overshadowed the agony radiating from my injured leg. The river, a mere stone's throw away, emerged as a risky yet plausible avenue for my escape.

Adrenaline surged through me as I sprinted in what I hoped was the right direction, guided by the soft illumination of the moon. Every stride intensified the excruciating pain shooting up from my ankle—it had to be a broken bone. Despite the agony, fear propelled me forward, overriding the physical distress.

Moments later, the stillness of the night was shattered by the unmistakable sound of approaching footsteps. Dread gnawed at my gut—I had no doubt it was my pursuer. How he had managed to track me was a mystery. The moon's pale light cloaked any evidence of blood, so it couldn't have been visual clues. It was as though he possessed heightened senses, able to follow my trail as if guided by some sixth sense.

A revelation dawned upon me amidst the panic: it wasn't sight or hearing guiding him, but smell. The stench of blood, though invisible in the darkness, would be a beacon to someone with keen olfactory senses. My heart sank at my oversight—such an elementary mistake. The realization of my folly only fueled the terror coursing through me.

Crouching swiftly, I scooped up the damp earth from the ground, likely moistened by recent rainfall. Clutching it tightly in both hands, I continued to sprint, my heart pounding with a mix of desperation and determination. Every movement sent sharp jolts of pain through my injured ankle, a reminder of the broken bone, but survival instincts pushed me beyond the agony.

I pressed the gritty mud onto my wounds, wincing as it mingled with the blood, creating a foul concoction that stung mercilessly. The discomfort was excruciating, but the prospect of survival eclipsed the pain. Every bit of earth I could muster went onto the wounds, a desperate attempt to mask the scent of blood that might have been leading my pursuer directly to me.

The night air echoed with my labored breaths and the desperate fervor of my actions. Despite the agony, the urgency to survive, to witness the coming dawn, spurred me on.

With a swift change in direction, I veered away from the direct path, sidestepping into the surrounding undergrowth. The bushes and trees offered better concealment, but the rustling of leaves and branches underfoot was inevitable. To most, these sounds might seem innocuous, akin to the movements of woodland creatures. However, I knew better. This man, he wouldn't dismiss these sounds so easily.

Driven by desperation, I ventured deeper into the woods, navigating the dense foliage. The cover was better, but each step I took generated noise, a telltale sign of my presence. Nevertheless, I pressed on, distancing myself from the path enough to evade the man's notice. As I traversed the unfamiliar terrain, the urgent beating of my heart echoed the race against time.

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Amidst the darkness, a distinct sound reached my ears—the gentle yet persistent rush of the river's current. It was a beacon of hope, a lifeline calling out to me. I hastened my pace, pushing myself onward until the sight of the meeting point between land and water came into view.

However, this was no time for respite. Resting here until daybreak was a luxury I couldn't afford. If I remained, I knew the man would eventually track me down, his intentions ominous and lethal. My thoughts raced with urgency, the weight of my family's safety heavy on my mind. I needed a plan, any plan, to survive.

In that tense moment, staring at the expanse of the river and the surrounding dense forest, a sense of urgency consumed me. The moon, in its fading brilliance, cast a dim light on my surroundings, revealing a cluster of logs left behind, remnants from a recent woodcutting expedition, perhaps.

Suddenly, an idea sparked within me—an unspoken strategy, a creative solution formed in the crucible of urgency. Throughout my life, I never considered myself a master of scrolls and parchments, but on the battlefield, my prowess in swift decision-making had earned nods of approval, even from Osbert. He might downplay my abilities, yet I knew that in critical moments like these, my mind surged with heightened clarity.

The logs ahead beckoned with a potential plan, a lifeline in this dire situation. My mind raced through possibilities, considering how I could employ these wooden remnants to aid my escape or at least to buy some precious time. With my back against the figurative wall, the battlefield instincts surged to the forefront, urging me to act swiftly and decisively.

With a silent prayer to the lord and an apologetic thought to the future woodcutter who would find his logs gone the next morning, I wasted no time and sprang into action. Glancing at the fading moon, I calculated that I had a narrow window—two, maybe three hours at most—before the sun unveiled the morning sky.

Retreating into the encompassing forest, I gathered as many leaves, plant fibers, and sturdy vines as my hands could clasp. Stripping off my tunic, I fashioned a makeshift sack, stuffing it with the natural materials I'd collected. Securing the bundle to my back, I retraced my steps to the river's edge, determined to set my plan in motion.

The urgency of the situation demanded quick action. Without hesitation, I initiated the task I had envisaged.

Methodically, I assessed each log, ensuring they were robust and buoyant, without any significant water damage. With the dagger in my hand, I shaved the round logs, shaping them into as square a form as possible with such a tool, removing any protruding branches or debris that might impede their functionality. Carefully arranged on the ground, I layered the collected leaves atop the logs, aiming to create a protective and stable surface.

Next came the crucial task of binding the logs together. Employing the sturdy plant fibers and vines I had gathered, I intricately lashed the logs, securing them into a cohesive raft. Wanting to reinforce its strength, I sacrificed my tunic, tearing it into strips of fabric to further tether the logs together. Ensuring the knots were tight and resilient was paramount, warranting a meticulous examination.

To guarantee stability, I tested the raft's balance with gentle nudges and pulls, making minute adjustments to prevent any precarious tipping. I meticulously combed over the construction, double-checking for any loose connections or weak points that might compromise its integrity. Each knot was scrutinized, every lash reaffirmed, until I was confident in the raft's resilience.

This impromptu craft was my lifeline, my ticket to safety in the treacherous waters ahead.

With the raft finally completed after an hour and a half of meticulous crafting, I gathered a handful of wild edible berries, securing them within the remaining scraps of my tunic. This small provision might serve as sustenance during this uncertain journey.

Approaching the river's edge, I hauled the raft into the water, its buoyancy and sturdiness my last hope for survival. Without a moment's hesitation, I leaped onto the makeshift vessel, testing its capacity to bear my weight with the abrupt force of a jump. Satisfied with its stability, I relinquished control to the river's swift current.

As the raft glided along the water's surface, I took precautionary measures, binding my ankles to one of the sturdy vines used in the raft's construction. It was a safeguard against the possibility of slipping off the raft in my state of exhaustion or if I succumbed to sleep.

Exhaustion crept over me, coaxing my eyelids to droop, despite the dangers of the journey. With the sky above me and the river beneath, I surrendered to the weariness, pondering the uncertain fate that awaited me in the embrace of the night.