Darkest Before Dawn

Author's note on the story: This is a story I wrote for a girl who I really like a lot. I wrote it just before Christmas last year *2007* as part of a Christmas present for her, and she thought it was good enough to post on an Icelandic website. Unfortunately I didn't get a lot of feedback there, so I'm reposting here in the hope that I'll get a little more criticism on how I can improve my writing . Originally it didn't have a name, but I've since named it "Darkest Before Dawn" (a tribute to my love of Gears Of War :$). I hope you enjoy it!

Here's the original link to where I posted it, my name's listed at the bottom: http://www.hugi.is/smasogur/threads.php?page=view&contentId=5507988 (just in case there's any qualms about me "stealing" work)

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The night air was still and chilly, with a thick layer of dew resting upon the blades of grass and uppermost leaves in the high beechen treetops. At the foot of a few scattered trees lay crisp, untouched leaves, while those in the canopy were fresh and boasted a shade of deep-green. An eerie silence had woven its way through the forest since early-evening, so that everything seemed frozen in time. The only movement was the slight quivering of leaves in the gentle wind.
Gazing down on the setting natively was the moon, which cast an illuminating, pale light over everything that was. The stars, who shone with a bright, heavenly elegance, lay strewn across the sky as if some giant, divine hand had rolled them across the welkin. The scene was like something out of a painting.
As dark and intimidating as the forest looked at this time of night however, it couldn't help but have a certain aura of mystery and forgotten tales. One would be afraid of it, yet supernaturally drawn to its ill-beauty. It was mesmerising to look at, a truly unappreciated sight.

Heavy footsteps broke the sacred atmosphere as a cloaked, hooded figure draped almost entirely in grubby white garments raced ungratefully through, choosing his footsteps very carefully in the pitch-blackness. Despite his light-footedness, his boots left imprints in the muddy earth, and he knew his pursuers would use this to track him down.
Cursing as he made his way through his somewhat enclosed surroundings, he wondered which way to head now. Common sense told him that a straight course wouldn't be hard to follow. Although he was in good shape, fatigue had taken its toll on him and he stopped to rest underneath the cover of a large, ancient tree. He sat at the base of it, on a side of the tree which was directly opposite to where he had just been running from. He bowed his head.
This forest is endless, he thought.
He pondered his next moves, which were despairingly limited: Stay put and get caught by a search party which would undoubtedly arrive by dawn, or even earlier, or continue running and pray that he reached some place safe soon. The latter was of course much more appealing, but one man couldn't run forever. Although the fear of death was a good motivator.
Mustering the courage to keep moving, he heaved himself to his feet and paused briefly. He strained his ears, and his eyes widened with fear as recognised the sound of angry shouts and dogs barking in the distance. He had put miles between him and his captors, who he was sure were unaware of his absence, or so he had thought. The fact that what he heard was in the distance did not console him in the slightest – they knew he was gone and they were coming to find him.
With not a moment to spare, he set off again. This time sprinting through the woodland, not being as careful in his strides as he was before, so that he found himself slipping on the moist ground and tripping over rogue branches at random intervals. As he ran for his life, cold and tired, his mind couldn't help but drift to a much more pleasurable scene, one much made him realise how he longed for the simple luxuries of a warm, soft bed to comfort him and the feeling of hot, delicious meal lain out in front of him. It struck him as amazing that a situation could change so much in 48 hours.
He shook his head and drew himself back to the nocturnal forest. His momentary lapse of concentration only made him more determined to break away from this hopeless situation, which he knew would require more than running to escape from.
Hope appeared on the horizon when he saw that the woodland was beginning to thin out. The spaces between the trees grew more prominent, their sizes decreasing as they approached the outskirts of the forest. When at last the weary figure emerged from the enclosed woodland he stumbled forward a few steps, unable to adjust to the sudden change in his environment.
As he crouched down, the tip of his white sleeves brushed against the grass. He was clearer now in the moonlight which shone directly on him from above. From a distance, against the backdrop of dark green grass draped infinitely across the land around him, he stood out like a candle in the darkness.
His thick heavy cloak seemed accustomed to his body shape, so that it mimicked his slender physique rather than appearing baggy or awkwardly loose over him, which most cloaks tended to do. The material was as strong and durable as leather, but had a soft feel to it as if it were the proud product of a master craftsman. Once an immaculate white, it now suffered the effects of muddy stains along the edges of it, as well as a large brown patch on the front, which he had earned during a particularly nasty fall into a murky puddle. Deep pockets were found on either side of the cloak, with an additional buttoned pocket hidden at chest-height on the inside.
The rims of his outfit bore lines of stitching, and the sturdy silver buttons which drew both sides of his cloak together around him were sewn to the material passionately. To complete the somewhat pious choice of attire, a large onyx-coloured belt was bound around his waist. His hood covered his head, masking his facial expression.
Studying the surroundings around him, the first thing that struck him was the vast, open plain in which he now found himself. He seemed to be approaching the edge of some sort of cliff, while to the left and right of him, the forest expanded into the horizon. Straight ahead was the chasm into nothingness. Looking back, he peered into the forest behind him and eyed the trees which slowly faded into the engulfing darkness. Thrown through the darkness at him was the sound of menacing voices approaching.
Casting his head forwards again with a determined frown, it struck him that there was one vital factor which he had failed to notice at first glance. A long, narrow bridge directly ahead of him, which dangled between the two parallel cliff faces, created a heartening pathway to the much larger plain on the other side. The fine line between despair and hope manifested in the form of a crude bridge.
Even in the dark, the figure could see that this bridge had been been built long ago, and thus suffered the effects of eras of weathering and decay. He wished more than anything that an alternative to this rickety, aged bridge had been presented to him, but he wasn't about to spit at the miracle which had just saved him from a condemned fate.
He paced his way towards it, taking heavy, unusual strides. Stopping short at the point where the bridge left the earth, he ran his gloved hand along one of the huge, stiff poles, upon which the four ropes that suspended the bridge's thin planks hung. He brooded over the distance between the two cliff-faces and figured it was a little more than a hundred, hundred and twenty feet.
Shaking as he took deep, unsettled breaths, he tried to run words of false encouragement through his mind that this bridge wasn't an evident death-trap into oblivion.
These seem sturdy enough he lied, as he placed his first step on one of the hopefully-durable boards.

The bridge unnervingly swayed slightly in the wind as he proceeded across the void. Each footstep seemed to be met with an eerie creak, an element which caused his heart to pound madly in his chest. As his head mechanically drew itself downwards, a lump formed in his throat at the daunting sight.
Peering between the gap of two rotting boards, he momentarily lost his balance at the symmetry of the two parallels. The chasm below was as black as the sky above, casting an illusion that made him unsure of which way was up. Fortunately, the lack of twinkling stars and glistening moon in the depths of the chasm below soon corrected his disorientated senses.
As he rested his hands on the two ropes either side of him, he resumed his slow, cautious steps, blotting out the creaking from below and approaching bellows from behind.
The sun was only just now beginning to peek over the horizon. It cast a weak light over the land and dazed figure etching himself nearer to it. With his arms outstretched angelically and dazed motioning towards the light, he would have appeared harmonious to any by-standers. Indeed, they would have almost certainly mistaken it for some sort of surreal, religious event.

His foot stamped hard on the damp grass as he forced himself forwards, departing the wooden walkway. Swinging his whole body around, he caught sight of two lumbering males and an over-sized mongrel emerging from the forest. One was gesticulating wildly to the other, waving a hand and shouting unintelligible words at the figure staring at them from across the other plain. They seemed to briefly argue amongst themselves, urging the other to pursue their escapee who stood perfectly still, studying them mockingly.
In a fit of impatience, the mongrel darted forwards and both men soon found themselves giving chase shortly behind. At once, the cloaked figure began kicking madly at one of the steadfast poles, but it was far too firmly rooted to the ground to shift.
There was no time to run now, they were closing in on him fast. The eyes of him and the man in front locked as he made one last-moment attempt to wrench the rope from around the wooden shaft – but he needn't have bothered.
They were barely twenty feet from him when the wooden planks, creaking madly under the weight of the eight feet scurrying across them, gave way. As the two ropes on which they rested stretched outwards under the strain, the planks began to snap loudly in unison, whilst the two terrified men tried clumsily to snatch at the ropes. Their bodies lost momentum and, slowly at first, then with incredible speed, plummeted hopelessly into the void below. The screams of them, coupled with the harrowing cries of the hound created a spooky orchestra of sounds. Long after the darkness had swallowed them up, the echoes of their voices could still be heard by the amazed figure, who stood in shock, flickering his eyes back and forth between the unusable, floor-less bridge and the point where he had last seen the two men alive.
After a few moments, he once again grew aware of the half-risen sun on the horizon and happily chiming birds fluttering in and out of the trees dotted around him.
Impressed with the way things had turned out tonight, he gracefully turned and allowed his mind to free itself from the forced concentration he had subjected it to all night, as he strolled up a gentle slope. Not even caring about so much as where he was or where he was going, he was rather just thankful that he had gotten out of this situation alive tonight. Every limited option available to him seemed exciting now and a joyous chance to express his freedom.
He didn't notice it, but he was smiling to himself, lost inside his mind where child-like thoughts of happiness raced through, disappearing as fast as they had appeared in the first place. He reached inside his breast pocket and patted a leather purse which jingled sharply, causing his smile to turn into a delightful laugh.
As he reached the top of the plateau before the earth stooped downwards once more, he noticed a tall, cylindrical pole protruding from the ground. It was made of wood – yet had nothing to do with shabby bridges, like the ones he had encountered earlier. This one was taller than he was, with three metal signs lodged into the side of it, signalling towards different directions.
The first two were grouped together, pointing over his shoulder and back the way he came. One had the words “Kastali Fortress” engraved onto it and, just below it and indicating slightly to the left, the other read “Skógur Woodland”. He frowned at both names, then turned his attention to the third metal sign that was pointing off into the rising sun, bringing something very much in the distance to his attention.
He gazed intently at it, shielding his eyes from the sun's glare. Blurs merged into shapes as his eyes gained a better focus on the vista.
There, neatly nestled between two high mountains, was a cluster of faintly glimmering lights. A settlement of sizeable proportion, no doubt just beginning to arise from its slumber. Before him, a winding grey, pathway weaved itself around rocks and shrubbery, extending towards the mass in the distance.
A journey of a thousand miles starts with but one step, the figure rehearsed in his head, as he began to trudge the beaten pathway.
Demanturinn, he thought. Sounds welcoming.

Overhead, the stars and the moon melted away into the milky-blue sky.