A musket ball whistled past Alfred Saxton’s ear, striking a stout oak just a few short meters beyond him. The Doppelsoldner ran faster, trying to distance himself from the Swiss marksman. He weaved between the tall, ancient trees, heading deeper into the thick forest. A few minutes later, he’d lost sight of the ruined and burning caravan all together. Already he somewhat regretted having gone so deep into the woods, he possessed neither map or compass. He felt almost certain that he’d changed direction during his dodging and weaving through the trees, and due to the thick canopy, he could not see the sun to use for directional reference.
Even so, he reasoned that if he just kept going in his current direction, he’d surely reach a town sooner or later. Alfred stood still for a moment, listening for any sound of pursuit. The forest was eerily silent. The only sounds were the wind, and the quiet flow of a creek. The sound of the water only reminded Alfr