A torrent of fear is palpable in the depths of one’s heart when faced with a disheartening situation. Edgar can feel his hands tremble however briefly, the strokes of the brush on the canvas soon become steady. These games are tedious yet never fail to make it seem an impending doom will settle upon him. Heart racing, he swore his fellow survivors can practically see it when he runs ahead with the canvas in his hands. The hunter, a feared figure who may very well claim his life if he is unable to hide after using his art as a cover up. Soon, he finished with his work and sets the finished work down and darts for the nearest place he can hide behind. Edgar barely makes a sound aside from shaky breaths that rack his frame, aware of every sound to drown out any rational thought. With the allocated amount of time he got, Edgar proceeds to treat his injury only to halt at the sounds of footsteps. “Curses…don’t tell me I’m found.” In retrospect, he closes his eyes to accept his departure but it never comes and he opens his eyes to see someone bandaging his leg injury.