First, let's set the scene.
A house sits next to a dark green forest. It's old, both forest and house. The forest is an offshoot of a more ancient parent, that reaches back - further than the eye can see - to the foot of a mountain range. The edge is a cheery, bright green... with lanes of grass and innumerable signs of small life. As you move into the trees, however, the light is blotted out, till it falls only in divine shafts of golden power, giving some life to the hardy grass, moss and leaf bed.
Some way in past the house, at one point, the leaves lying on the floor are disturbed. A closer look shows half a foot print. The smudge of mud extending outwards indicates hast. Pulling back, it then becomes obvious that there are two tracks to be discerned. One laid in haste, all mud and broad marks, the other more measured... patient, stalking.
A grunt of frustration draws the ear further in. A tall girl is climbing to her feet. Another hasty slip has grazed her right knee and hand. She looks in disgust at the frenzy of muddy marks, then growls again in frustration. A pause, then she swallows, and somewhat fretful, looks about. Her eyes stab through the gloom, but she sees nothing. Grimacing, she comes fully to her feet, standing all of 6ft tall. Long blond hair falls from her head, bound up in a tie. Her shoulders glisten with sweat, a loose white track shirt sticking to her back and upper arms. She wears a pair of cotton running shorts, muddy from bruising, cutting slips and falls, together with a pair of comfortable but unrecognisable shoes - too much mud cakes them for a distinguishing emblem to be seen. But, never the less, they appear to be of curious shape, not rounded at the front, but dimpled as if with toes?
Casting about once more with her eyes, hair swishing from side to side, a pony's tail, she sprints off between a tree (bent and crooked from a clash with a falling neighbour) and a large grey rock.
Deep steady breaths. An even pace. The hunter has used a compass (the trees having defeated his GPS receiver) and a memorised map to circle around his prey. Knowing that the natural slope will herd her to the right, he cut across a river and stands now on a low bluff, looking down into the forest with a thermal imager. The viewer is set to a wide angle, taking in almost all the forest in front of the man, with an commanding arc of 120 degrees.
A red glow appears in the left corner. The hunter switches to a narrower focus and zooms in. A smile spreads across his face. Not wide, a mear upturning of the lips, but enough to signify pleasure. He steps down and across the rocks below him, and moves to the thickening tree line opposite the bluff.
Pelting along, heedless of her pace and concentrating hard on her footing, the girl does not see the hunter step into the natural running path he espied from his vantage point. Instinct and her subconscious have betrayed her... busy concentrating on her flight, her mind has mapped the easiest path.
A movement in her peripheral vision causes her to slow and look up. Her heart freezes. But it's not simple fear. There's... desire? Unadulterated, even fueled by her surprise and then tempered by her fear.
"No..." she blurts out, "you cannot have me. I've been bound to the sorcerer!" Defiant, she raises her muddy left arm, to show an impossibly thin bracelet, rainbow hued and brightly shining.
