100 Words a Day 870

Cyrus kicked himself again for having left so late. He walked as quickly as he dared along the narrow trail, branches pulling at his arms and legs. The character of the trail changed and he breathed a sigh of relief; the foliage pulled back their clinging limbs and moonbeams filtered down through the trees. He quickened his pace, but stopped when he heard a twig snap off the trail. He looked around the silent forest. No movement. Not so much as a branch swaying in the wind. Blood pounding through his veins, Cyrus listened like his life depended on it.