As always, the moon was full. A fact that Elfbones was taking full advantage of. The trees sped by as he followed the gentle slope of the ground downhill. Unsure where to go, downhill felt right.

  Clothing caught and ripped on errant branches. Elfbones avoided scratches with raised hands, fearing the loss of an eye (or two). Stumbling, sliding and ricocheting between trees, he maintained an impressive momentum. He had to - he was being chased.

  Several sounds grew back in the dark depths of the wood. There was a rhythmic padding, whose tempo made Elfbones curse his willowy legs. Amongst these, intermittent calls, their meaning swallowed by the night. The intention was clear enough, though. Worse than that was the constant snuffling and snorting. It was this that drove Elfbones forwards at a reckless pace. Those snuffle-snorts had to be outrun. If not, he stood next to no chance of escaping his pursuers. Aside from his own huffing, crunching, and snapping, these were the only other sounds in the wood. And they were getting closer.

  Soon, another sound arose. This sound didn’t come from behind, but from straight ahead. The sound of running water. Elfbones could smell the water - cool and fresh. It wasn’t far. Negotiating the trees had become a lot easier. The moonlight was getting brighter - or, at least, there was more breaking through the canopy. The trees were thinning out. In no time, Elfbones emerged from the woods at high speed - and plunged straight into a river.

  In the moonlight, the river resembled a smooth black meandering road. Its depth ensured that the surface didn’t betray the speed with which it flowed. Elfbones’ feet found the riverbed and he stood up with a gasp. Despite only being feet from the bank, the water was chest-high. It wanted to take him with it. Shuffling his feet was the only way to maintain position.

  A bridge spanned the river not too far downstream. This rankled him somewhat - there was a path, or road, through the woods nearby. If he had run a mite more that way… No. There was no time for thoughts like that. No time to think at all. He would climb back onto the bank, make for the bridge, and then the fields beyond.

  The first of Elfbones’ pursuers broke through the tree-line. Unlike Elfbones, they stopped short of taking a dip. Here was a soldier of the Royal Guard seated upon a hunting steed: a turkey-elephant. Its short trunk twisted and writhed across the ground, taking in great snorts of air. Where the trunk led, the rest of the animal followed. At the water's edge, its whole body froze. The dimpled folds of its skin quivered. Its long, slender neck stretched out. Aligned with its head, it strained in Elfbones’ direction, the trunk in front pointing like an accusing finger.

  The bridge was out of the question. No time. Elfbones turned and walked further out into the river.

  “Get back here, fool!” said the soldier.

  “No!” The lack of imagination in his reply disappointed Elfbones. To be fair, other matters occupied his mind. The river was only getting deeper; the water reached shoulder height. What little purchase Elfbones had on the river bed was tenuous. The full force of the current came to bear here. His toes only found loose silt, no more able to resist the river’s urging flow than he was. The river caught Elfbones and swept him downstream.

  Somewhere up ahead there was a call - ahead, but higher than the level of the river. He wiped the water from his eyes. The soldier was upon his steed in the middle of the fast approaching bridge, holding a lance over the side.

  “Grab hold!”

  Elfbones had little time to react. Within seconds, the bridge loomed over him. He grasped for the lance. It was smooth and proved quite resistant to the desperate pawing of Elfbones’ hands. The lance almost passed out of reach when Elfbones made one last lunge for it. Both hands gripped the lance’s tip tightly. The lunge, however, caught both the soldier and turkey-elephant off balance. As the river dragged Elfbones beneath it, the bridge acted as a fulcrum. The lance launched guard and steed off the bridge.

  Elfbones watched the two plunge into the water. He gripped the lance and waited for them to surface.

  He drifted as seconds stretched out like minutes. Nothing.

  Then a shape burst from the water nearby. A shrill, gargled shriek escaped from its short trunk. A moment later, the rider appeared - closer to the centre of the river, where the water flowed fastest. As a result, he had travelled further downstream.

  Elfbones kicked and twisted, attempting to manoeuvre himself. Arms outstretched, he pushed the lance as close to the guard as possible. Nearby, the turkey-elephant thrashed about. It wasn’t at home in the water. Its body was buoyant enough. Its weight distribution, however, prevented it from finding a point of equilibrium. It bobbed and pivoted. Its head emerged and submerged.

  “Just a little closer,” called the guard. “I can nearly reach.”

  “I don’t think… I’m holding on to the tip as it is,” replied Elfbones between mouthfuls of water. “Hold on. Maybe-” A blow struck Elfbones in the shoulder forcing him below the surface. In a panic, the turkey-elephant’s thrashing legs had kicked him.

  Surfacing once more, Elfbones eagerly filled his lungs with air. His pursuers, overcome by the river’s power, disappeared around a bend in the river.

  Those large muscular legs had pushed Elfbones into the slower water nearer to the river bank. There still wasn’t any ground within reach, but the riverbank was close enough that, with some effort, shallow water, and the land beyond, soon could be. If only he didn’t have the damn lance in his hands. The lance! Despite nearly drowning, his grip on it had remained tight.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  The lance thrust into the river bed with every ounce of strength Elfbones had left. It stuck fast and pinned Elfbones into position. Stationary now, the river water surged around him, urging his fingers to let go of the lance. That wasn’t about to happen. Elfbones pushed against it and slowly forced himself towards the shallower water. Each foot found the ground, and soon an exhausted Elfbones spilled onto the sandy bank.

  Elfbones’ pulse thrummed in his ear. Breath clouded above him, and fatigue blanked his mind. He lay, staring upwards, his aching muscles grateful for the rest.

  Stars filled the cloudless sky. Tonight an unexpected visitor joined them - an ice-blue comet.

  Elfbones lay for a moment, rapt by the comet’s beauty.

  A cry from up river broke its spell. Another soldier. They were out of sight - somewhere close to where Elfbones had departed the woods. How many guards were following him? Elfbones reluctantly rose to his feet and ran.

  This side of the river was farmland. Elfbones found himself in a large meadow bordered by a tall hedgerow. Dotted about the meadow were many boulders. The nearest of which sat right alongside the hedge.

  Some luck at last, thought Elfbones, mustering every ounce of strength he could. He dashed for the boulder. The hedge was too tall to climb. But the boulder was large enough that it could be used to leap over. On the other side, briefly out of sight and with a little distance between them, there was a chance of losing his pursuers.

  The soldier’s calls grew nearer. There was only one voice. Simple commands for the steed. Not the co-ordinating cries of multiple pursuers. Another stroke of luck! Yet another solitary soldier. Maybe this was the only other one chasing him. If he could shake him, he stood a pretty good chance of evading capture.

  At the foot of the boulder, Elfbones leapt and planted a foot on a smooth area near the base. Without a pause, he pulled himself towards the top. But something wasn’t right. The boulder felt warm and unexpectedly soft.

  A piercing shriek emerged from below, followed by a deep, rumbling growl. The boulder lurched onto its feet and jerked its back. Elfbones found it impossible to keep his footing. He was flung up into the air and fell headfirst into the hedge. It could not support his weight, buckling and absorbing Elfbones into its very heart, where it caught and held him upside-down.

  The disgruntled hippo-cow traipsed off across the field. It was calmer now that it had shaken him off. It found a resting spot near its herd and lay down, becoming a 'boulder' again.

  There was movement on the riverbank. The soldier and his steed had picked up his scent and were advancing, trunk to the ground.

  Elfbones desperately tried to move. But the tangled, thorny mass of the hedge held his arms and legs in a tight grip.

  Padding feet approached, then stopped a few feet away. The snuffling and snorting of the steed had risen from ground level. They must have reached the hedgerow. That powerful little trunk was attempting to re-establish the direction Elfbones had travelled. It was where the hippo-cow had bucked Elfbones into the air. The abrupt dispersal of his scent - mixed with the panicked musk of the hippo-cow - had confused it.

  Not for long. Elfbones could hear the trunk rustling through the hedge feet from his head. He had to get moving. It was only a bunch of thorns and sticks - with a concerted effort, he should be able to pull himself free. It was agony, however, as he pulled and twisted. Each tiny branch, each little wooden hook and spear, had a hold. None was stronger than Elfbones, but in combination, they held him fast.

  “Stop your struggling. The chase is over,” said the soldier, hearing his rustling attempts at freedom. “There is no need to exhaust yourself any further.”

  Elfbones sagged. A long breath escaped from his mouth, to be replaced by resignation. “Then, please, help me. I’m completely stuck.”

  The soldier drew breath across gritted teeth. “That would require me to exert myself more than I feel willing.”

  The turkey-elephant was still sniffing along the hedge. It was yet to home in on Elfbones' exact location. The hedge was deep, and the many rich aromas, both plant and animal, within it provided some camouflage.

  Through a hole in the undergrowth, Elfbones saw the silver tip of the soldier’s lance lower and point roughly towards him.

  “You have upset the king. Your life is no longer your own. It is forfeit. And I find myself in the delicious position of deciding exactly how it will play out.”

  Elfbones made another attempt to break free.

  “His preference is for your safe return, so that he can condemn you to rot in a dark, forgotten corner of Schadbane.”

  Something ripped and Elfbones was free to move his right arm a little. It was the only body part he could move.

  “But he authorised us to pass judgement and sentence in his absence should you make it impossible for us to ensure his preferred outcome.”

  The tip of the lance drew back. The trunk of the soldier’s steed obscured the lance as it found its target. Its breath, like moss soaked in milk, fluttered over Elfbones’ face. The trunk then withdrew and became rigid, pointing straight at Elfbones.

  “It is not your lucky day,” said the guard, his voice swelling with a sickening excitement.

  Elfbones moved the one free arm around to get some greater amount of freedom. His hand brushed against something smooth and hard. Straining to see beyond where his head could turn, he recognised the seed pod, and his heart leaped. The free hand grabbed it and thrust it as close to the pointed trunk as possible. He held his breath and crushed the seed pod in his hand.

  A fine purple dust spread out from the crushed pod and caught the air. It drifted towards the turkey-elephant’s nostrils, and it inhaled a small amount.

  “I do this for my king!” said the soldier, readying his lance to be thrust deep into the heart of the hedge.

  The turkey-elephant’s nostrils puckered as it squealed in distress. In doing so, it inhaled the rest of the purple dust. The sound that it made next was beyond easy categorisation. It was every sound the animal could make, with a few surprising additions.

  From Elfbones’ perspective, the scene beyond the hedge was a thrashing blur. Mixed in amongst the steed's cries of distress were the soldier’s desperate calls to calm the animal. The soldier’s cries then stopped suddenly.

  Elfbones watched as the steed raced away across the field. Its rider hung from one side. The turkey-elephant’s thrashing had knocked him unconscious, but his feet were stuck in the stirrups. Soon they vanished out of sight. It wasn’t long before Elfbones could no longer hear the turkey-elephant’s cries.

  The steed inhaled most of the dust. What small amount lingered smelled worse than anything Elfbones had ever experienced.

  Exhaustion overcame him, and the smell, the cold, the thorns were of little concern. At least, hanging here, I won’t be likely to sleepwalk tonight, he thought as he lost consciousness.

  Elfbones slipped into a deep sleep that even the light of dreams could not penetrate.