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The man scrambles through the trees, twigs and leaves burning angry red scratches into his arms and legs as he pushes past them. His breathing is ragged, chest heaving - his body shakes with the effort.
He shivers in fear as he catches the sounds of his pursuers, - their steps heavy and loud - seeming to echo to his ears. He nearly screams in fright when he hears the sounds of wings beating the air vigorously above him. The man flinches and changes his direction immediately as a spear gets thrown into the tree he was in front of barely a second ago.
This sudden turn causes his back to scrape along the tree for a moment; he screams freely in pain this time. His back burned and bled even more at the contact between the raw, bleeding flesh and the tough, scaly bark of the tree.
"Krii rok, stin rok do ok krasaar!" He hears the yells of his people, or what was once his people.
"Dii Zeymah! My brothers!" He screams in agony, still running.
"Do not kill! Zu'u nunon tinvaak vahzen!"
Suddenly, he bursts through the trees, only to skid to a sudden halt as he realizes he could no longer see the ground ahead.
He was trapped.
"You are hurt, Zeymah. You must be set free."
He watches in horror as he sees all of his people with weapons pointed at him. He takes a couple steps back, standing on the very edge of the ground. He could feel the air pulling at him, beckoning him to fall.
"Zeymah..." He pleads, eyes widened with sadness.
"Do not abandon me for something I cannot control!"
"I am sorry. You must be set free." A long, dark brown haired person says, readying his spear."
The younger smiles sadly, "Ruz zu'u los wah mah."
The man opens his arms, reaching out to them in forgiveness, and lets the wind pull him down.