Days passed, the suns rose and set over moutains and valleys. The man continued to run, his chestnut and red streaked hair flying into his face regularly. He had stopped long enough to wash his hands in another stream he'd run across, but he knew he was still being pursuied. It was only a matter of time...

He was at the edge of the seemingly endless forest. In front of him streched grasslands, their green livliness dancing in the mild summer breeze. His face, which was sillouetted agianst the sun, was composed of sharp angles. He couldn't have been more than twenty-ish.

Making his descision quickly he headed foreward, toward a spot qhere smoke blew off the plains and into the sky, marking some kind of presence at least. He hoped it wasn't hostile. He placed a widebrimmed black hat on his head, hiding his features in shadow. He wasn't keen on letting his identity go ahead of him.