Eiren clutched the precious maps and papers, jammed in a battered notebook, to his chest and moved his feet desperately across the Kelfordshire grounds. He could not spare the frequent looks he threw behind his shoulders, but neither could he help himself. The fear of the hunter turned him into a small animal, forced into a tunnel too tight to breathe. His heart seized in his thin chest; his lungs seemed almost to cave in on themselves.

A gunshot cut into the darkness, breaking the silence of the woods that surrounded him. He gasped and tripped, pitching forward onto the grass. The papers spilled forth and he barely held in a shriek of despair. He groped for a moment - the moon was selfishly being sucked in by the clouds, erasing the available light. Eiren squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before forcing his clumsy feet back under his frame, and with the papers back in his arms, he darted forth once more.

The gunshot was a painful reminder that he had horridly underestimated how much he was wanted at Kelfordshire Castle. He wondered in a detached sort of way if his pursuers cared whether or not he was killed, but the thought was quickly stifled as he recalled how close the shot had been.

A howl - quick and sharp - echoed across the grounds, and it was followed at once by another bullet, this one splitting the air by Eiren's ear. His mouth filled with blood as he bit his tongue, smothering an exclamation, and his body jerked backward. They're helping each other! he swore inwardly, spitting and pressing himself against the fencing for a moment. He looked back over his shoulder, but he could see nothing beyond the fog and the looming shadows of the statues. Go! he urged himself, and he let out a whimper as he continued his race. After a few more staggered seconds of running, he came to the corner, the bend in the fence that marked the edge of the property. The lake was not far - he was sure of it - and he threw himself to the earth. He pressed himself into the dirt and clumsily dropped his things, spreading open the pages of the map in the dark. He looked up desperately. It seemed the lake was just ahead, but he saw nothing, nothing other than the damned statues. They appeared to be everywhere, as a part of the estate as the hound seemed to be.

Sliding forward, he reached his hands out to the statues, pulling himself along and there, faintly revealing itself amidst the fog, was the lake. It was gray and still and empty, but Eiren still sensed something, that peculiar notion of life and sentience in the water. The feeling unsettled him greatly, but he had to ignore it.

As though hearing his sentiment, the dog let loose a cry, and a final bullet tore the night apart, clipping both Eiren's cheek and the foot of the statue before him. Unable to hold in a scream, he threw his hands over his head and ground his teeth together. You must do this, he thought, panic and fear swallowing up anything more complex. He slid behind the statue and clawed at the ground, the dirt cold and unforgiving. In a moment, a small hole appeared, and he hastily slid his things inside. It was crude and easily spotted, but he hoped, with his heart in his throat, that the contents of the diary and map would be overlooked as long as he was missing. He hoped that he had not misjudged this desire to keep him on the estate, but there was no more time for planning, no more time for preparation.

Eiren stood, shaking horribly, and swallowed, the coppery blood grating down his throat. He looked down at the lake, like an endless, hopeless mouth. It was time. There was either nothing after this, or everything. Life, or death. Freedom, or resignation. Eiren Adair took a deep breath, and for the first time in his life, began to pray.