The hunting horn bellows behind you.

Your heart is pounding, beating in rhythm with your feet as you desperately try to escape through the trees. Behind you you can hear your pursuer, the hooves in the leaves, the jangling of a chain as it hits rock, tree, ground, leg. But no matter how many times you look over your shoulder, you cannot see it. Perhaps it is the lack of light -- a thin moon shines between the bare branches, but it is not enough.

Perhaps there is just nothing to see. 

The trees go on forever, they seem to have no end. And still you are being chased. No matter how much you run, you feel like you can't go on any more, you feel as if your lungs will give out. And yet you cannot stop.

Again, the horn. This time it is answered by the creature giving chase -- a howl bounces off of the barren trees. A wolf or hunting hound, almost. Until the sound devolves into what seems like a mad cackle, and you force yourself to not think of it anymore. 

You see a break in the trees ahead. Finally. You hope for safety, you hope from freedom from this nightmare. But all you find is an open field, barren of anything. No life, no cover, no refuge. And yet you cannot help but to bolt out onto the open plain. 

Once more, the horn sounds behind you, and the cackling howl is heard again, closer. You almost feel the creature's breath on your neck.

You chance a look back, one last time--

--

In dealings with other Stygians, Fourth is a rather composed, quiet being. He speaks only as much as necessary, and almost never elaborates -- still no one knows why he calls himself Fourth, only that that is his preferred name. He does not speak, often. He watches. He observes. He does not take action.

But when the hunting horn sounds, everything changes. 

He lives for the hunt.