I decided to do another 'picture is worth a thousand words' piece. I've put the picture at the end so you can choose whether you want to read it first and then see the picture, or you can scroll down and look at the picture first and then read. Instead of grabbing one randomly I decided to choose one this time. Not that I chose one that I had a story in mind for, just one that leapt out and seemed like it would be easy to write one for. Though I did choose one randomly first and would have liked to write a story about that one, but the images I found of that art on the internet weren't very good. So here goes. Foolz3h, feel free to critique the artwork if you so desire!

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He panted hard as his strides took him through the snow. He knew they were not far behind him, out of eyesight, but he expected only just. His boots left large marks in the snow, and his trail would be easy to follow given that the snow had subsided. He knew he did not have time to slow and make an attempt to cover his tracks. While he wore it to fight off the cold, the heavy clothing upon his person combined with the effort of escape was making him sweat. The trees here were sparse enough that there was very little cover or opportunity to hide. However he knew the area well, and if he continued in the direction he was headed, the trees began to become more dense and might give him the chance to lose their trail.

He paused briefly next to a tree, knelt down and picked up some snow in his gloved hands. He breathed upon it in an attempt to melt some of it, sipped what little had done so, and put the rest of the ice in his mouth. It was chilling, but melted in his mouth to give him some hydration. It tasted of dirt, and he spat out a small twig. He used the back of his glove to wipe away some of the snow that had settled into his beard. His legs complained as he tried to move again, and the burning in his calves fired anew. After he broke back into stride, the burning subsided to a dull ache. One hand went to the hilt of his sword to hold it steady so it didn't swing wide and affect his balance with each step. He knew it would have been faster if he were to discard it, but that was not an option.

He thought about his chasers. He had given them a good run for their money for the past couple of days. There was something exhiliarating about the chase. There was the thrill of knowing that one person could elude a dozen. There was the knowledge that one person alone could move faster and conceal their movements much more effectively than as a group. He knew he wasn't infallible. They would catch him eventually. But he was determined that it would not be this day. In his reverie he had continued running towards his intended destination, but he slowed, realising that he had not been paying attention to his surroundings, and something had just caught his eye.

He slowed to a walk and turned around to ensure his safety. The foot prints in the snow were large, about three feet from heel to toe. He frowned, and his mindset shifted. The exhiliration turned to fear. He was now in real danger. He could see the tree line he was heading to, and the footprints led in that direction. He looked back in the direction of the tracks he had laid himself. He thought for a moment that he saw the glint of metal. It may have just been a reflection of light on the snow, but if not it meant they were coming into line of sight with him. He turned to the trees, once more behind him, then planted his feet into the snow to make a cautious trot towards the trees, his hand still on his hilt, but with the intent to use it if necessary. His hunting skills told him that the tracks were fresh.

As he approached the trees, he heard a rustling from within them, and that rustling soon turned into the creaking of branches. His heart sank as he saw the tops of the trees sway, and the top of the giants head was revealed before its head raised higher and he could see its face, as it stood up from its makeshift hiding place. He knew it was likely to be fruitless, but he turned to run back towards his chasers. The crunching of the trees behind him indicated that the giant was forcing them aside to give chase. He slipped awkwardly, and the hilt of his sword ground into his hip as he failed to regain his balance. He winced as he stood and continued to run. He could most certainly see the glint of metal ahead, though it was just a speck and still in the distance. The crunching of the snow beneath his feet, which had sounded loud to him when he had been running before, was now drowned out by the giants great footsteps. With the giant three times his height, he knew it was only a matter of time before it caught up to him.

He turned back to see the giants progress, and it carried with it a branch that looked thicker than his thighs, and probably twice as long as his sword, if not more. He pondered his mistake. Perhaps he should have ran towards the beast, and tried to reach the thicket before it could reached the barrier of the treeline, and tried to evade it there in the concealment of the trees. Out here where the trees were bare, there was little hope. He felt like he had been running for several minutes since sighting the beast but knew it was probably not even one, and the specks in the distance appeared no closer. With a feeling of morbid dread he turned as he approached a near dead tree, stricken of all it's leaves. It was scant comfort, but at least this might offer some form of advantage for when he inevitably faced the beast. He may as well catch as much breath as he can. At its current pace, it would be here within seconds. He tried to think, tried to plan, but nothing appeared good enough. The reach of both the giants arms and it's humongous club seemed insurmountable. He thought about which way he would evade, to try and dance around the tree, but no train of thought seemed to end with him being able to land a blow.

And then there was no time for thought. He pulled his sword from its sheath as the beast lumbered towards him. He had put the tree directly between the two of them, and the beast swerved to one side and swung his club around the tree. The tracker jumped as the club thudded into the ground and rolled away, but the giant took another step around the tree and brought them almost facing each other. The tracker had no time to think and made a desparate attempt to continue to run around the tree, but there was no way to escape. With his back to the beast, the club swung through the air and crashed into his back with stunning force. The sound of his bones cracking that reverberated through his body sickened him as his entire upper body flashed with incredible pain. He was flung forward, and a spray of blood flew from his mouth. He landed hard, his sword dropping from his hands next to him, his helmet falling from his head. He lay on his back, his body too wracked with pain to move. In his attempts to breath he could hear and feel the gurgling in his throat, and the taste of blood. That, more than any of the pain he was enduring, told him immediately that he would soon be dead, even if the giant did not strike again.

And the giant did not strike again. It had looked back and seen the glinting of metal that approached, and decided it had had enough fun for one day. It began to saunter back to the woods, while the chasers approached. Against a single human opponent, giants were the clear winners. While the giants size and range would still be a great asset, the giant had no interest in fighting multiple humans that were fast approaching.

Minutes later, the hunting party approached. The person leading the party, a blonde haired woman, seperated herself as she approached the body laying in the snow. She dropped down to her knees beside him, the scene already indicating that he was gone. She laid one hand on his chest. She could not fathom his steadfastness. It was just a training exercise. Why hadn't he forfeited and returned to them when he had come across the giants tracks? What had convinced him that this risk was worth it? Suddenly she wanted him to be alive so that she could hurt him. She began to cry, though otherwise she maintained her composure. After a moment she turned to the other men with her, and promptly asked them to prepare a litter. She stayed with the man as the snow soaked through her pants, and the other men went about their work and left her be. Eventually it was complete.

"Let us return," she said, her eyes distant. The men loaded their dead comrade onto the litter. With her eldest brother now ready to be returned home and laid to rest, she led the party back the way they had come.