The loud booming of the bork’s footfalls rumbled the earth beneath their feet. Since when had the borks traveled this far east? Not since Don or Lucinda’s great-great-great-great-grandfather had been there to vanquish their numbers. They had been driven into the mountains and into the ancient dwarven mines that had run dry of riches and wealth. No, this wasn’t right.
The unusually warm autumn air burnt Don’s lungs like fire. The stranger had disappeared along a turn ahead. If they could just slip into the woods to their left they might have a chance to confuse the borks. Borks were a bit slow and dim-witted, but that made them all the more dangerous. But they were a little short on their options at the moment, so Don ducked in between massive trunks, pulling Lucinda with him. While taking his leave of the road he had tried to kick up as much dust as possible to hide their exodus.
The underbrush was easy to trip over in their haste. Twice had stumbled and once he actually fell and grazed his knees, but sprang up continued to run, then had to stop. Just for a moment, thought Don, just a moment. Then he spotted a colossal hollow oak with a hole in its side touching the ground. Veering his course toward the oak, he pulled Lucy ahead of him and pushed her inside it. Without taking a look behind him, Don dove head first into the hole.
The darkness was like walking into cave with no torch. Don’s eyes had to adjust to velvety blackness before he saw anything. As he stood there, regaining his breath, he thought back to when it all had started. He was glad he hadn’t overslept in his cottage as it burned. He had known the road was risky, but hadn’t expected this. Then he looked at Lucy’s now-visible face. She looked worn out and on the verge of tears from the tension of the moment.
Without any warning, a blinding white light covered his vision and a rough hand pressed over his mouth.
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