HUNTED DOWN

Working was made considerably more difficult by the frigid night. It wasn't the throbbing headaches or the enigmatic ebony night sky that bothered him. His flesh was being eaten away by the cold. He struggled to get his feet off the ground. It seemed like you were walking about with enormous weights shackled to your ankles. Nelanian did not return the stare; in fact, he did not bother. From the minute he smelled the blazing smoke, he knew and understood that the folks were gone. His chivalrous spirit was convincing him to return and save Sam. But he knew better; his physique wasn't in good enough shape to battle the arsonists. The night sky was dark and ominous, with no stars or a brilliant moon to shine light on the party or the path they were going on. He took one step after another, relying solely on his faith. He could call it whatever he wanted: faith, luck, intuition, or whatever other phrase