The orc’s long strides left me in the dust. I pushed as hard as I could, following the deep imprints of his footsteps on the ground. My tired feet were breaking into Andrea’s old gym shoes, and the cushion didn’t help the fact that I still had to keep running. My knees gave out, and I landed in the dirt, crying for breath.

I lay by a fork in the trail, completely spent. Not like I could just venture into either trail without knowing what waited for me there anyway. A family of hungry orcs who were less picky about their meals, maybe?

The orc was long gone, and continuing the pursuit seemed like a lost cause. I lost my pack and with it, my bargaining chip for my grandmother’s freedom, the jewel-encrusted dagger.

My staff dug into the dirt as I tried to stand and failed. I bit my arm to muffle my scream. How could I let this happen?

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After a few gasps for air, I scooted to a tree and sat there, propped against the trunk in a desire to look normal. Grandma’s freedom, I need to secure it in some other way. But how? I was out of ideas but that wouldn’t stop me. I won’t throw in the towel. I’ll be hanging onto anything that’s mine, even a metaphorical towel.

I wiped my sweat, stood, and begrudgingly backtracked in the vague direction of the mine.

I wasn’t lost for long, as the sounds of drunken soldiers yelling guided me through the woods.

Soon after, I entered the mine camp area, taking note to avoid the drunkards.

Five soldiers along with five teenage minor miners—bad joke—played ‘keep the canteen away’ from an even drunker, short and stocky miner. He sported a lot of facial hair for a teen. How long had he been growing that beard? They tossed and caught the canteen, taking swigs before the stocky miner could get close enough to snatch it from them.

I thought the entire camp was drunk by the amount of noise they made. Glad to see that was not the case.