Special thanks goes out to a friend of mine, reminiscence-. From being an amazing person, to an amazing writer, it turns out she's also an amazing graphics artist! The banner on the side is the coolest thing i've ever seen! THANK YOU SO MUCH!

Cayson's breath was erratic at best. He couldn't quite remember how to take in air normally. His arm was devoured by a scorching ache that carried tears to his eyes. He receded to the cursed oak that had triggered countless complications: the one that had concluded Cayson's stroll down the hill; the one that had kissed Emery's face and bashed her down for the count; and the one that, at this time, was propping Cayson up.

Clutching his arm firmly, he craved for this bad dream to be done.

Emery hovered over The Hunter, mouth gaped open. She nudged him with her foot but he didn't act in response. Cayson rested his head back and against the tree, sweat dripping down his forehead.

"Cayson?" Emery questioned. Circling around The Hunter she crashed to her knees at Cayson's side. "Are you alright?"

"I'm just peachy!" Cayson barked. What in the hell kind of question was that?

"Let me see." Emery detained a snarky comment as her eyes gesticulated to his wound. He dropped his hand with minimal effort, short of the vigor to continue his act as a tourniquet.

She gradually extended her trembling hands, softly gripping his shirt sleeve so she could twist it back and perceive the injury; Emery inclined inward.

"Oh my god," she gulped. He snuck a quick look at his own injury as he came to the conclusion that he hadn't seen it yet.

It looked absolutely revolting. There was an enormous gash, blood streaming down the length of his arm and trickling from his fingertips. The fact that he could stare into his own body thru a single abrasion sickened him.

"Shit," he muttered amid gritted teeth.

"It's not bad," Emery lied, shaking her head. Cayson gawked at her with an 'are you kidding me?' glare. Her hands drifted over his arm, unconfident in what action to take. She displayed a minor cut on her cheek due to her crash with the trunk. That oddly-timed worry showered over him and he stretched out to wipe away the minor amount of dried out blood.

It was now Emery's shot to deliver a 'what the hell' glance.

"Are you alright?" Cayson asked. Emery wavered, unsure if Cayson was losing his mind or if he was truthfully more troubled about her than himself. Ultimately, she nodded.

They needed to move. Cayson's hollering had to have drew somebody's attention in and if the others were even half as malevolent as the brute predator stretched out before them they were screwed. He'd blockaded the aching before – Cayson simply had to discover the inspiration to do so.

However, he was burnt out.

His body couldn't make-believe any longer that it wasn't suffering. All its focus was on that discomfort; on that agony. Cayson strained to rise up and off the ground. His legs had metamorphosed to slush and he concluded right back where he had begun, groveling on the forest floor.

"Easy!" Emery yelled, alarmed. "We have to just . . . think for a second, okay?" We don't have a second. Cayson watched as Emery bit her lip, the gears in her head rotating. She slipped off his jacket, equipped to bind it round his upper limb. Cayson, however, swatted her hand away.

"You need the jacket." He shot her down.

"Cayson, I'll be fine-"

"It's freaking twenty degrees below zero!" He exaggerated. "You'll need it for the rest of the day."

". . . What are you talking about?" He drew in a deep breath, trying to satisfy his lungs which seemed to demand more and more air by the second.

"Emery, you have to go," he interposed; she scoffed.

"You're joking . . . I'm not just leaving you!"

"Sh," he hushed her. "More of him are going to come and I'll just slow you down." Cayson couldn't clarify his worry for Emery. It was very comparable to how defensive over his sister he had been. If anyone even squinted at Hazel the wrong way Cayson would have been on them in a second.

Anyone besides there father that is.

"We are leaving . . ." She forced the jacket back on, glimpsing at the unconscious villain. "Right now." Her stare reverted to Cayson for a split second and he viewed a smirk form on her lips. Emery pried The Hunters jacket from off of him, securely binding the sleeves around Cayson's arm; he hissed as she did this.

"Emery-"he started to whine as soon as she concluded her task.

"If you tell me to leave you one more time," she began to utter her warning, pausing to return to The Hunter. "I'll kill you myself."

She dug through his pockets and essentially tore apart his holster, accumulating a series of items: a pocket knife, a walkie-talkie, a small protein bar, and an undersized handgun. She crammed them all into her back pocket apart from the handgun which she clutched in her unsteady hand.

"When did you become MacGyver?" Cayson teased to ease the tension.

"Have you watched any action movie ever?" Emery questioned, standing over him. "They always empty out the unconscious guy's pockets."

"Movies save lives," Cayson breathlessly laughed. Emery lifted the corner of her lip to indicate a smile and knelt down in front of him. She gripped his unscathed arm and draped it around her shoulders while wrapping her free hand around his waist. "Ready?"

He bit back his tongue and detained his comments. He didn't want to, and would never voice, just how much he required Emery's help. Emery considered his silence as a firm yes and instigated their slow escalation.

Cayson grunted and Emery just about had to heave him to his feet. Once they'd triumphed and come across the earth, Cayson's feet recuperated their strength and he was able to stand.

"Not so bad," Emery remarked in high spirits, the two starting off their journey through the unidentified passageways of the woods.

At the beginning of their trip, Cayson had made a solid effort to use the bare minimum of Emery's support. They had an elongated route ahead and wearing them both down was treacherous. The duo trudged through the forest, leaves and twigs crushing under their feet, for what felt like hours. The sounds of the leaves made Cayson think of potato chips.

Food.

When Cayson realized he was drooling at the mere thought of food, he twisted his attention to the deep soreness in his legs. He desired nothing more than to plummet to the soil and into a bottomless slumber, one he wasn't sure he wanted to wake up from.

After sometime into their soundless trip he couldn't do it any longer.

Cayson's head pulsated; he was sopping in perspiration; and he was so unbelievably heated. Even in the chill of the day he suffered as much as one being boiled alive. He leaned on Emery more and more, his legs more or less starting to go numb.

"So, does Cayson like to do anything besides to brutally sarcastic?" Emery shattered the terrible silence. He was more than sure it was a distraction for the both of them. The sun would be setting in a bit and they still didn't know which way to go.

"Not really," he broke off to cough. "Sarcasm is my life, what about you?"

"Football." He elevated his brow.

"Really?" He enquired.

"Oh god now," Emery jeered. "I still don't understand the big deal. One guy throws the football to another and he tries to run with the ball. So exciting." Cayson's stomach coincidentally flipped, not due to Emery's tremendously incorrect belief, and he felt nauseous.

"Can we stop for a second?" He requested as they moved in the direction of the backside of a rocky hill.

"Was it what I said?" She chuckled.

"I think I'm going to be sick." Emery hastily released Cayson, aiding in propping Cayson up against the hill. He slipped onto his butt, burying his head in his hand as he winched from the discomfort.

"You alright?" Emery grasped his cheeks, making Cayson stare her in the eyes. Cayson was cut off by the booming chorus of footsteps and snapping twigs. Cayson drove Emery's hands away and together their heads whipped towards the cause of the sound.

"Get down," Cayson stated whilst jerking Emery's arm. She dropped right next to him, their legs basically glued together.

"I don't know how to fire a gun," she whispered with wide eyes. Cayson detached the gun from her hold. "Stay down." He dug his fingers into the rock wall and lugged himself to his feet. Resting against it, he aimed at the clatter.

He'd on no occasion held nor fired a gun but it was, at this time, the single thing defending the two of them.

"Have you ever shot someone?" Emery murmured, paying no attention to his demand; bounding to her feet and burrowing her nails into his shoulder.

"Only on Grand Theft Auto," he truthfully replied.

"Please tell me you're joking." Two people materialized from the barrage of trees. Cayson narrowed his eyes, fighting to ward off the quaking infecting his hands.

"Wait!" Emery cautioned, circling around him.

"What are you doing?" Cayson uttered.

"Mason!" She shouted. Mason came to a standstill, peering attentively.

"Emery?" He quizzed; Cayson slinked onward. "Cayson?" Once Cayson confirmed that one of the figures was Mason and the additional one had been roaming with Clarissa he unwound. Cayson let the gun slip from his fingers and clang to the terrain.

"You jerks!" Emery barked. "You scared me half to death!" Cayson wobbled and tumbled into the wall. Mason cocked his head to the side as they loomed.

"Hey," Emery verbalized as she lightly held his arms and lent a hand as Cayson skidded to the ground.

"What the hell happened to you guys?" Clarissa's travel companion queried. Emery only directed a glare his way.

"This is Zane . . . He's okay," Mason remarked to ease her worry before he examined to Cayson. "You don't look so good, buddy."

"He was stabbed." Zane's coffee eyes practically burst from their sockets. Mason strode over to Cayson and pulled on the jacket to glimpse at his injury.

"Have you cleaned it out?" Emery vacantly gazed at Mason before flinging her hands up and pouring over the woods.

"With what?"

"Can we have this fight somewhere else?" Cayson bade, tilting his head back as he closed his eyes.

"We found somewhere to hide just over there," Zane informed them, directing his finger backwards; they settled on relocating. Cayson had made an effort to tread on his own but wound up reaching the point of exhaustion. Mason wound up slinging him over his shoulder and lugging Cayson the rest of the way.

Mason and Zane had been hold up in a relatively enormous cavern. They slogged all the way to the rear of it and positioned Cayson against the wall. Cayson would have dozed off if Mason hadn't chosen to play medic and perceive his wound.

Zane and Emery had scooped up an array of twigs and branches on the trek to the pothole to produce a minor yet controlled fire. It had to be just sufficient enough to offer Mason a decent quantity of light. He initiated his treatment by unfastening the current bandage.

Mason didn't leave a statement once he spotted the cut, he just peeped at Cayson without a word.

"How bad?" Cayson's tenor was feeble.

"We need to just clean it out."

"Isn't there a pond around here somewhere?" Zane interjected.

"No," Cayson shot it down.

"You need water?" Emery was muddled.

"No one's risking their lives to go get water," Cayson debated.

"We haven't seen any," Zane spoke.

"What do you mean?" Emery interrogated.

"They cleared out," Mason filled in as he ripped apart the jacket into strands, tying a few of them around his arm.

As if to object his point, distant voices became audible. Mason hurriedly completed the job, tilting around the corner to gaze at the outside.

"Sure about that?" Cayson asked, sitting up.