Through the Thorns
Pick Your Peril: The Hero of Mudtown
(This is part of a series of choose-your-own-adventure articles. If you want to start from the beginning, click here. If you want to revisit the previous chapter, click here.)
The thorny bushes are dense, twisted together in a net of spiky branches. A small opening near the base of the brush looks big enough for you to escape to safety, but as you get nearer, you begin to wonder if you will even be able to fit. You might have been transformed into a small piglet, but the gap in the brambles still looks like it will be a tight squeeze. The closer you get, the tighter it seems to be.
The wolves are close to catching up when you dive headfirst into the gap. The thorns dig into your skin as you press forward, spurred on by the hot breath of the vicious predators at your heels. Branches snap and barbs dig deeper into your flesh as you press further and further into the brambles, forging your own path through the thorny bushes. The pack snarls and clamors at the entrance of your self-made tunnel, but the prickles of the plants keep them at bay.
The brambles slowly become less dense as you move through them, and you eventually emerge in a small clearing near the top of a hill. You are covered in scratches and thorns, bleeding and exhausted, but you are alive. You take a moment to rest before you continue to trot to the top of the hill, expecting to see some familiar landmarks and hoping for an idea of where to go next.
Miles of landscape stretch out before you.
A small group of hunters sit next to a campfire a little ways down the hill near the edge of the forest. They might be part of the same group of forest men your family was trying to find. If they were not connected to the band of outlaws, maybe they would know where to look.
A road leads out of the woods and towards the castle in the distance. A carriage sits on the road, two knights working to fix its broken wheel. You could try your luck with them and see if they would take you to the castle.
The sound of distant oinking draws your attention to a sizable pig farm on the other side of the road. The urge to give up and live out the rest of your life on the farm is tempting. Why are you even trying to talk to people, you’re a pig! The most you can do is oink and squeal, anyone you talk to is more likely to turn you into bacon than have a conversation with you. At least you know they will have a place for you at the farm.
What will you do?