Literature
Short story 2
He ran through the forest, panting slightly. As he heard an arrow whistle past his head he ducked, rolling over the ground and getting up in one smooth motion. He groaned softly from the wounds that had already formed in his skin, crimson red dripping from them. After a while he stopped, adjusting his cloak, which he had put over his trousers and black shirt because of the winter that had arrived. His hair was stained from the blood he had drawn from his enemies. He smiled slightly, swinging the bag from his shoulders before taking his swords off. He stuck his swords in the ground, hung the strap from his bag on one of them and walked towards
