Imani had not even though about what direction he'd fled the meeting in.  It wasn't until he'd burst from the mists and looked out on empty air that he realized he had turned towards the sea cliffs.  Only instinct threw him back on his haunches, sliding and grappling on the grass up to the very edge of the cliff.  Clumps of grass and pebbles rained over the side.  He lept back and stood, legs spread, tremblings.  His sides heaved.  His coat was near black with sweat and he could still taste the cold iron tang of fear clawing up the back of his throat.  

Gradually, his breathing slowed along with his heart rate.  His eyes lifted instinctively to the sky, squinting into the sky for the tell-tale shadow of wings.  Seeing none, he slowly turned.  With slow, careful steps the hyena-man slunk towards the shadows of the dense trees.  He wasn't truly cognizant even now of where he was going, so wrapped up in fear and memories that he couldn't get his own mind straight.  He moved as a feral thing does, seeking shelter from that which he feared.  He found himself in the denser parts of the woods, where the canopy would provide some shelter from attacks from above.  Now, as never before, he was aware of the soft clink of bones at his shoulder.  Softer and softer he attempted to step until finally he stilled, frozen in the dappled shadows of the woods.

Hallo? Hiënajie?

The voice makes him jump.  The accent is... not what he expects.  He does not, at first, even know what to make of it.  Perhaps it does not immediately cross his mind that Korofi can speak though the rational part of him knows this is true.  He does not move.  He does not know who it is that seeks him, only that it is a stranger.  Then he glimpses the bright, rufous plumage and the stark splash of white.  A black rimmed eyes.  The hot, primal scent of the winged monsters from his nightmares.

He dares not move.  He dares not speak, even if he could find the words.  He shrinks deeper back against the trunk of the forest giant that shelters him, trying to become lost in the brush and shadows.  His brain screams to flee but he does not want to alert the hunter to his location.  Carefully, ever so carefully, he takes a step to turn, to try and round the tree trunk and put it between him and the Korofi which hunts him.

Click.

The bones rock against his sweat soaked shoulders, bold patterns of black and crimson on aged ivory, as old as he is.  His muscles lock, frozen.  His odd eyes track the winged-one, more white than color with terror.  His ears are buried in the shagginess of his mane, whole body shaking with the resurgence of adrenaline that was just beginning to drain off.  He is exhausted, and yet the terror keeps him alive and alert and the two forces collide within him, as if trying to tear his vibrating muscles from his weary bones.

It would have been better to die to the teeth and hooves of his own tribe, then hunted down by a lone Korofi, far from his home.  He will die purposeless, a frightened animal.  They were right.  His amulet is broken.

Misfortune has followed him to Helovia.

Imani