Gutterblood 3 - Awakening

To his great surprise, Treyvas woke up. He was aching from cold and his clothes were soaked through, but he was alive, and all of his limbs seemed to be intact and still attached. Without opening his eyes, he took in the information his other senses told him; he was lying on a hard rock surface across which sluggish rills of water crept, and it smelled of leaf-mould and the distinctive dry scent that caves usually have. He could hear the heavy pounding of rain a short distance away, and occasionally the clicks, hoots, or peeps of common nocturnal creatures.
With no sound or smell of the half-fae, Treyvas felt secure enough to open his eyes. He was, as he had surmised, in a cave. The walls were not so far apart that he couldn’t touch them with outstretched arms, and they towered up above him further than he could see in the night. Beyond his feet was the entrance, and a waxing half moon gave him light through a clearing in the clouds towards the horizon. Behind him, past the line where the moon illuminated, he could not see. Afraid that Templeton might be in the darkness there, Treyvas sat still and listened with straining ears to catch any clues of the half-fae’s presence, but he heard nothing except the rain and the night’s normal sounds. Slowly he relaxed a little and sat up, searching around him to see if there was anything here that could be useful to him.
His investigations turned up nothing more than rotted vegetation and loose rocks, so Treyvas picked up one of the latter that felt good in his hand and got to his feet. He wasn’t sure why Templeton would have left him in this cave unless it was to store him for later consumption, and if that was the case he didn’t want to stick around to experience it.
Carefully he moved out to the mouth of the cave. Despite the downpour he could see the moon clearly, and it provided enough light that he could make his way easily. He would get wet again, and probably muddy, but it was better than becoming food. Still, he hesitated before leaving. Where would he go? Obviously he didn’t want to go back to the wagons and slavery, but he had no idea where there might be settlements nearby. He was familiar with the dangers of the borderlands, but that did not make them any less dangerous to a young boy on his own, with no weapons. And what about food, and water? He had no way to carry either, and though he knew some of the safe plants to eat, and how to tell if the water was bad in a stream, he must still be constantly scrounging in order to live. Treyvas was a brave boy, but he was not foolish. He knew he would have a rough time of it. As he thought he realized he had made up his mind. It was better to die free than live a slave. And he had debts to repay at the caravan.
From a tree limb far above, past where Treyvas’ vision could reach, a thin figure stood silently on a limb jutting from the bole of an ancient hardwood. It made no move as the boy stood in thought, nor as he walked away into the gloomy underbrush that even its excellent night eyesight couldn't penetrate. Only several minutes later did it spring lightly from the limb, landing some thirty feet below. Its legs bent, and its feet sank into the mud of the forest floor almost to the top of its calf-length leather boots, but it showed no pain at the landing, and merely pulled its feet free and slowly stalked after the boy, making no more sound than a panther on the hunt. Blood dripped in a slow stream from its eyes.