It sniffed the air at one point, appearing to catch his scent on the wind, but the fear seemed to be stronger in this one, and since Beam was such a distance away, it opted to continue running away instead, disappearing deep into the pine trees before Beam could get much closer.
With the running of that second Bear, an ominous feeling began to set in for Beam, as he tried to work out what was happening. Wolves? It might have made sense in a single isolated instance – the wolves attempted to prey on a weakened bear, sending it running. But two separate instances twenty minutes apart and with no wolves in sight?
It seemed rather odd to Beam, and now that he thought about it, there was nothing weak about the first bear. He doubted even a hungry wolf pack would risk attempting to attack it.
He stood still, in the cold pre-winter air, pondering, as his breath misted up in front of him and he looked through the trees with searching eyes, his mind working all the while, searching for answers.
Several deep breaths, in a world that was still. A scream pierced the silence.
Beam's hand was on his sword in an instant and he shot off his backfoot, darting towards the source of the noise.
The wind rushed against his face as he ran and the thick roots of the undergrowth threatened to snag him. The noise came from further along the hunting trail, a path that Beam walked regularly on his patrols and yet rarely did he see anyone.
Today, along that normally barren path, he saw a party of soldiers engaged in an intense battle with creatures that he had not seen before.
If even a single one made it that far... Beam shuddered to think about it. The soldiers were strong – Beam had seen that. They easily dealt with goblins. Yet even they struggled against the gorebeasts. The villagers wouldn't stand a chance. They'd be torn to pieces.
Even running wouldn't be an option.
Yet gorebeasts weren't the only thing that Beam had to worry about. The whole forest was going berserk at once. He felt the familiar chill in the air that came with the presence of goblins – that little inclination of unnaturalness that warned him creatures made of darkness were nearby.
He slowed his run to a jog, glancing through the trees once more. He still hadn't sheathed his sword after the earlier attack, for he didn't feel safe enough to. There was such danger in the air, it made the hairs on the back of his head stand up.
An arrow flitted towards him, seemingly borne of nothing but fog. Beam spotted it and dodged it by the smallest of margins. It thudded into the tree behind him.
"An arrow?" Beam murmured, his eyes wide open as he scanned the surroundings. He knew of no monsters that used arrows.
But from the fog, he heard the familiar hissing and howling of goblins, that terrible orchestra of madness that played wherever they walked. He dashed forward, using the trees as cover, intent on covering the distance between him and the enemy before they could unleash another surprise attack.
Another arrow rushed past him as he ran, this one very nearly clipping the tip of his ear. He ducked out of the way. He took more note of the trajectory of the arrow this time – it was coming from above. Whoever was firing it was amongst the trees.