Let Go I

The deep forest, the tightly knit trees obstruct him as he gave chase. His foot is like the wind; his movement is like lightning, criss crossing through the large forest.

The White Hart keep galloping and with each gallop it turns into a flash of silver light that pass through the forest unobstructed.

This massive realm of woodland, the blackness of the night renders no help to Arial. The hearth is calling for the Day is old.

The only source of light, the Moon has been obstructed by the large trees. 

The light could not even streak through the boughs. The fog of Darkness, that miasma of Evil has begun spreading again.

Yet, he did not stop his chase. The promise of an answer, the promise of closure pushes him forwards. Pushes his fears.

Only one thing gives Light at this dark forest. The White Hart shines with silver light, illuminating the dark greens leaves into viriscent riots.