Amethyst: Why my name means death

Chapter 1 (not finished)

A flicker of movement, at best the shadow of a tree blowing in the wind. Hunting. Then two more, just as fast as the first. I flatten myself against a thick tree, and let the gusts of the cold wind hit my face, the kind that cuts your cheek as it passes. The hood of my cloak is pushed back, and I resist the urge to turn my face away. Bitter experience has taught me that the faintest movement can be the difference between life and death. I inch my fingers toward my Dialect, then freeze as one of the shadows stops moving. Even in the darkness, my eyes can make out the giant, hulking figure of a Wrieth. Massive, terrible creatures. Like wolves, yet larger than the largest bear. Impossibly dark fur, nearly invisible in the forest. And evil, red eyes, watching. Waiting.
It opens its mouth, flashing terrible teeth, and shrieks. I bolt instantly, seeking refuge from the sound. Its dark red eyes focus on me as it swings its head, and then it gives chase.
Its two partners surge ahead and to the sides, losing themselves in the darkness of the forest. They call to each other, hauntingly, and I know I have, at best, a few seconds before the Werth close in on me.
I sense the Werth running diagonally towards me, cutting me off on all sides. Except… a single opening, behind the two leading Werth. It could buy me time. And just as easily, it could destroy everything. Werth are known to leave backups surrounding their prey. They practically feed on deception. But it’s my only chance. And before I make the connection of the red eyes staring from the area, my feet move for me, pivoting cleanly and flipping me towards the gap. I scream as the teeth of the Wrieth close on my arm.
I kick out in agony, hitting the Wrieth square in the jaw. It stumbles back, hissing, as its partners begin to close in on me. They take slow, sure steps, forming a ring around me. I can hear their breath. I step backwards, tripping on a rock and falling onto my back. I don’t make a sound. The largest of the Werth steps forward. I close my eyes, refusing to watch. I can already feel its breath on my face. My hand connects with something hanging from above, and a spark of hope lights up. My eyes snap open just as it lunges at me. I act by instinct, and in a moment I’ve climbed halfway up a tall vine. The Wrieth roars in anger, but regains its thoughts quickly, jumping up, and catching hold of the vine with its teeth. I hastily pull my leg back, away from its reach. But that isn’t the purpose of holding on to the vine. The branch tied to the vine creaks, shaking, then a crack appears on the side. I begin scaling the vine as quickly as I can, but from here I can tell it isn’t enough. I’m out of breath from the chase, and my legs and arms are impossibly tired. I won’t make it in time. With a last effort, I jump to the branch as it cracks, and scramble along the branch as it begins to fall. I make it to the trunk just as the entire thing falls, almost taking me with it. I hang onto the small knub that is left of the branch, and look up, kicking my feet so I don’t fall. The next branch is at least three feet high. Maybe if I swing…
I begin a simple pendulum motion, swinging on the knub. I feel the sharp wood begin to dig itself into my hand. Blood cascades down my arm, slipping down my side. The Werth below me begins to jump against the tree, snapping at my feet, and shaking the tree. With the last of my strength, I pull myself up onto the branch. I have just enough time to wrap my arms around the branch before a Wrieth grabs the knob of the branch with its teeth. Shakily, I begin to climb the tree, seeking less dangerous branches. Branches that the Werth can’t reach. Or at least, I hope not. The stories don’t exaggerate when they say a Wrieth can break down trees. I snuggle against a few branches, and tie myself to the trunk. I’ve learned from painful experiences that relying on one branch can kill you, or at least break multiple bones instantly. And right now, I need to focus on not falling if I’m going to last the night.
My eyelids start to droop, and I fight the urge to sleep. Just a little longer… I hear a howl of a Wrieth, from somewhere far off, and strange as it might be, the sound comforts me. It lets me know that the Werth are hunting something that isn’t me. I resist sleep until the first rays of the sun reach out to me, before I collapse on my branches. Then, just before I can sleep, a Wrieth’s howl shatters the dawn. The forest falls deathly silent, but the significance of this doesn’t penetrate my brain until later.
It’s well known that Werth fear light, so the forest is generally safe enough in the day. And they are usually tucked away in their caves before dawn. I shake my head, sighing loudly. I had a good sleep. And there’s no way that a Wrieth is outside, in daylight, much less howling. They are, quite literally, half-made of darkness. I must have mistaken the sound.
That’s when I hear it again.
That terrible, aching howl.
Not something you mistake twice, if at all.
It takes me another few minutes to register the rest. It’s all I can do not to pass out from fear.
If the Werth are hunting in light…
What does this mean for me?
For my village?
For everything I hold dear?
I know only one thing now.
I am trapped.
Truly and thoroughly… trapped.

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