Alec would be damned if his story ended then and there. He'd lost track of his walking stick in the fall, but by some miracle he could not explain, the small knife was still stuck in his belt.

He snatched the thing out now and, in another act totally against his will and his nature, he threw himself at the nearest of the riders, who by that time were pulling up rein not 15 feet away. When Alec attacked, it was this time with a wild banshee scream.

To his absolute surprise, the group was thrown into disarray at his attack. One of them very nearly fell from his horse, and the nearest man, the fellow who was the direct object of Alec's attack, artfully backed his mount away from the attacking human.

Human? Were not the members of this band he now attacked also human? His eyes were so accustomed to the thick dark of the forest that even the faint starlight by which he now could see seemed positively glaring. He could not make out the finer features of the men he attacked, but they were men. Only ... he didn't really have time to observe them. There was something about their bearing and their features. He couldn't say what.

By the time he fully bore down on them, when the first of the men was within a swipe of his tiny sharp blade, a series of shouts and yells abounded, and the men and mounts were in disarray.

Alec was never going to win a fight with a half dozen or more mounted men, so he did what he should have done from the beginning. He hightailed it out of there, heading for a point where the meadow in which they were then located met a series of bushes and trees along a downhill slope.

He ran with all his speed; he ran with all his might. He soon was hurtling helter-skelter down a dry wash, the stones loose under his feet, and the vines, limbs, and thistles of the forest snatching at his face and hands.

By that point, he was thoroughly lost, and had he been in any other situation he would have stopped and waited for daylight to help guide him back to the road.

No such option was available to him. It seemed unlikely the horsemen would try to follow were a man afoot was having a hard time making way. But some of his pursuers likewise were on foot. He moved as quietly as he reasonably could and trusted that the wash down which he stumbled would lead him to the narrow stream that paralleled the road upon which he had been travelling, the only road in that benighted land as far as Alec could tell.

He found himself muttering several times, "Stay on the road," in a voice that only he likely would hear.

Either way, he kept moving, wanting nothing more than to put any possible pursuit behind him. It wasn't always possible. On several occasions, sounds in the woods caused him to pause and to make a careful assessment of whether such noises were natural or not.

There were ten or more people—for they did indeed appear to be people, even if they didn't smell and ... feel like people—hunting him. It was no time to lose his head. He scarcely thought of the pack he left behind. It had only a bit of fruit and dried fish in it. His long knife he would miss, and though he had never been the kind to grow attached to objects, he likewise would miss his walking stick.

He could forge a new knife and carve a new walking stick. He only had one hide, but a single life, and he intended to keep ahold of it. For that matter, his injuries from the fight near his makeshift camp were minor and troubled him none at all. He could feel them, but they did not hobble or slow him.

His trail carried him onward for some time. Might it have been an hour or two? It was difficult to say, virtually impossible to gage time in his current circumstances. But he felt safe to slow at that point. After another hour, he found a secure place among some high rocks and paused for a time. He wasn't winded or even sleepy, so thoroughly did adrenaline still fuel him, but he wanted a chance to stop and listen for the sound or sight of any pursuit.

After what he estimated to be a solid half hour, he sensed nothing. Unless his sense betrayed him, no one was on his trail.

His path carried him onward for a time, until he came to a slight gap in the trees, where the dry wash gave way to a tiny pond. With a bit of looking, he found a bank of the pond that was open grass, which in turn led to a rise among the trees.

He had a better sense of direction when he took the time to stop and consult the stars. These were not the stars of Earth, but a few of those he could see were dependable roadmaps to his location. He soon was heading in a direction that he hoped would be southwest, back toward the road and toward home.

"Stay on the road," he muttered to himself several times more. Now he knew what the old farmer was talking about.

Who were these men who pursued him? He didn't recognize the language at all, which itself was strange. Alec had lived much of his life on the road. He could speak three languages well and three more haltingly. He was familiar enough with 30 or more others that he could pick out by ear which language was being spoken even if he didn't understand what was being said.

The language of the natives he so far had met, though still a mystery to him, sounded vaguely Persian and French, though it was neither language.

The language he'd heard spoken by his pursuers, the men who assailed him in his camp, didn't sound like any language Alec had ever heard. The bits and snippets he heard sounded very much like a person trying to imitate the chirping and cooing of a bird.

What madness was this place?

Alec wasn't going to find that out where he was then, wandering lost in the forest. So it was another thing that he tucked away for thought later. Now it was time for survival.

He accomplished that end by being the best woodsman that he could. He moved as slowly as he thought he was able, was cautious to keep on direction, and stopped frequently to look, listen, and smell.

It was with the coming of morning some time later that he was able to begin moving at something more than a crawl. Then, he began to move in short and swift bursts from one concealed place to another. With the coming of light, it was actually easier to conceal himself. And he moved only when he was certain he was not being observed.

It was nearly two hours after sunrise, at a point when Alec had nearly begun to despair, that he caught his first ray of hope. Up ahead, he encountered his first proper stream since taking flight the night before. It was a faint rivulet, but it was more than a dry wash. Moreover, the thing ran in the general direction that Alec wanted to go.

It was with a great sigh of relief 30 or so minutes later when an opening in the trees came into view. Beyond that opening was a stream, and running along the stream was a faint trail.

It was with bated breath that he bounded up to the trail, checking the area around him with careful scrutiny before he moved, and checked the trail for tracks. Happily, there was no sign of footprints other than Alec's boot prints from several days before. Not only was there no indication that anyone else had been upon the road, but the presence of Alec's prints proved that this was his trail, the one that was the main artery through his life, not some other trail of which he knew nothing.

He so far had made it a point to boil his drinking water whenever possible but drinking from natural sources so far had caused him no harm. His need drove him to sate his thirst now. He drank long and deep, not having imbibed anything since the night before. He then rummaged about for some berries and fruits. Several apples and handfuls of nuts helped take the edge from his hunger. He would eat more on the way home.

He toyed for several moments with returning to his campsite of the night before and recovering his belongings but dismissed it out of hand. There was no telling if the strangers were still present, and he best not poke that bear. Besides, if they had not made off with Alec's dagger, then it would be where he left it. Metal corroded slowly in this land, and he could return to the place at a later time and recover the item then.

No, he headed home, and when he did it was at a quickstep. He'd had his share of adventure for the time. Now it was time to get home and to come up with a plan to make his new home safe from these strangers, whoever they were.