Jeffrey

The forest was too quiet. That's always a bad sign.

We had gone out to the northern edge, where the terrain becomes uneven and the ground is never completely stable. It had rained earlier, and the smell of wet earth still lingered in the air. Mud, damp leaves, exposed roots. A perfect place to train… and to make mistakes.

We were running.

I was in front. I'm always in front.

Not because I decide to, but because my body does it before my head. I set the pace. The others adapt. {{user}} was behind me, at just the right distance. Neither challenging me, nor following me like the others. That's always bothered me a little. I never know if they're challenging me or ignoring me.

The terrain changed quickly.

I jumped over a root. I stepped firmly. I kept going.

Then I heard it.

It wasn't a loud sound. It was a mistake.

A slip. A stumble. A body losing control.

I didn't think.

I turned.

I saw the {{user}} falling down the slope, the mud carrying her straight to the rocks. I saw her body lose its grip, her body tilt too far.

And I went for it.

I crashed into her with all my might. I felt the impact on my shoulder, my chest, my feet. It hurt, but it stopped her. I planted myself in front of her without thinking, using my weight as an anchor.